Outside the window, Gotham's night was swathed in the deepest shadows just before the dawn. Jay leaned back in the passenger seat, his side throbbing with every jolt of the car. He pulled out his phone, hesitated for a second, and then dialed the number.
"Ha… ah… yawn…"
The phone rang for a long time before being picked up. Commissioner Bob's voice came through, thick with sleep and irritation. "…Jay, this better be a damn emergency."
"Chief, Headquarters just got cleaned out."
There was a two-second silence on the other end. The sleepiness vanished instantly. "…What?"
"Arkham was a feint. The real target was the Evidence Locker at HQ. One of Loeb's pets played the inside man. The vault is practically empty, multiple casualties, and the rest of the precinct was huddled in the main building too scared to breathe."
Another brief silence followed, but Jay could almost hear the gears in Bob's head grinding at high speed.
"Tsk…" Bob's voice was now wide awake.
He cared so much about Loeb's misfortune that he sounded like a politician hearing his rival just had a career-ending scandal—he was practically beaming through the phone.
"Haha, Loeb is in deep shit now. Where are you?"
"On my way back to the East Precinct."
"See you at the station," Bob said decisively. "I'm on my way."
"Copy that."
The East Precinct lobby was lit only by a few flickering emergency lights. As expected, the skeleton crew of civilian clerks were face-down on their desks, dozing away.
Enduring the pain, Jay dismissed the officers who had participated in the operation to go home and rest. He grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, shoved it under his shirt, and dragged a chair to the center of the lobby to wait.
Before long, the sound of tires screeching echoed outside. Wilson's car was the first back. He jumped out, his face a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline.
"Captain! I nearly stripped them down to their underwear!" He gestured to a few tired but bright-eyed officers to unload several heavy canvas bags and crates from the car. "Allen and Albert stayed behind to deal with the coroner."
"Got it! Just… keep it down! Move it to the new building next door!"
Jay walked over, lowering his voice. Wilson, while directing the men, whispered, "Brother, how bad was it at Headquarters?"
"Worse than you can imagine." Jay saw Otis helping with the crates and stepped in to lend a hand. "Get this stuff to Forensics. Have Nygma see if he can find any leads once the sun's up. Then get some sleep—we'll divvy up the spoils later!"
"You got it!"
Wilson grinned and went back to work. Just as the supplies were nearly cleared, a sedan pulled up quietly. Commissioner Bob walked in wearing civilian clothes; his hair was a mess, but his eyes were sharp and devoid of sleep. He walked straight to Jay.
"My office."
Jay stood up and followed him to the second floor. The door clicked shut, sealing out the rest of the world.
Bob didn't even bother with the overhead lights, opting instead for the desk lamp. The dim yellow light stretched their shadows across the wall. He circled the desk but didn't sit; instead, he shook a cigarette out of a pack, lit it, and took a long drag.
"Looks like you guys made a killing tonight… huh?"
He noticed Jay clutching his stomach. He immediately stubbed out the cigarette and walked over. "You hit?"
"Took a round. It's fine."
"What the—? Since when is taking a round 'fine'?" Bob jumped, reaching for the phone to call an ambulance, but Jay pressed down on the receiver.
"It hit the ceramic plate. Just a bruise. I'll go to the hospital later. Listen to the rest first."
Jay leaned back in the chair, feeling the dull ache in his side, and recounted the night's chaos—the cowardice at HQ, the gutted Evidence Locker, and that blood-red "THANK YOU." His voice was calm, but every word landed like a hammer in the quiet room.
"And that's it. There's nothing left in that vault. And Falcone's money got hit again, too."
Bob listened in silence. His expression shifted from excitement to gravity, finally settling into a cold, predatory smile.
"An opportunity… Jay, this is a gift from God to the East Precinct."
He looked more excited than Jay had ever seen him. "Forget Falcone for a second. Loeb is done. Even if he had nothing to do with this, his career as Commissioner is over. The GCPD needs a new chief—someone who can clean up the mess and rebuild morale…"
His gaze landed on Jay, but it felt like he was looking through him toward a much bigger future. "The chance we've been waiting for… it just dropped in our laps."
"Not necessarily," Jay shook his head. "Toppling Loeb is easy now, but getting you the seat is still a long shot. The timing is too tight; we haven't built enough momentum."
He gestured for Bob to sit. "Tomorrow morning—actually, this morning—but not too early… I want you to prepare fourteen thousand, seven hundred dollars. Go visit the families of Brian and Nelson. Do it in front of the cameras.
And remember: exactly four thousand seven hundred of that needs to be in small, used bills."
"I get the PR move with the reporters, but the change… what's the angle?"
"Ten thousand is from you. Even though they weren't East Precinct, it shows your 'leadership and responsibility' as a high-ranking officer. Tell the press that our newly established Relief Fund will continue to look after them."
Jay paused to catch his breath. "Then tell the reporters that the remaining four thousand seven hundred was a spontaneous donation from the East Precinct officers, inspired by your leadership. Maybe add some loose change to make it look more authentic."
"It's not just Loeb—the whole GCPD is in a panic right now. They won't think of this. You need to be the first one to stand up and build a reliable image in the eyes of every beat cop."
"You're right." Bob nodded. He lifted Jay's shirt to check the injury; the red mark had already turned into a deep, ugly purple. "You really need to get to a hospital."
…
By morning, Jay used his uniform to cut the line at the hospital. The CT scan confirmed the bones were intact. He went back to sleep, and by the time he woke up at noon, the bruise had darkened even further.
He drove back to the station and headed straight for the newly established Forensics Lab.
The new department was in the basement, occupying a long, empty corridor.
The peeling light-green paint still showed rectangular outlines where lockers used to stand. The floor was old vinyl tile, the corners still embedded with decades of stubborn grime.
The air was a mix of cheap fresh paint, pungent disinfectant, and a faint, lingering scent of mildew seeping from the old brickwork.
Nygma was standing at a large worktable, scribbling in a notebook. Hearing Jay enter, he looked up with a touch of concern. "Jay, I heard you were hurt?"
"Ha! It's nothing! Aaaagh—fuck!"
Jay instinctively patted the injury and nearly peed himself from the pain. He hissed for air as he sat down, looking at Nygma. "So, Ed, what have we got? Can we ID the guys who hit Arkham?"
"Mercenaries. And not top-tier ones, based on their gear."
He picked up the notebook and pointed to the entries. "One Vz. 58V folding-stock carbine, a few Vz. 25s, two or three AKMs. That's about it. And the night vision gear you wanted…"
"One Gen-3 PVS-7D—I'm guessing they paid a fortune for that. Plus two Gen-2 PVS-5s and a PVS-4."
"Tsk… shame we can't keep it all!"
Jay wished he could pocket the whole lot. After thinking for a moment, he said, "Submit the two PVS-5s as evidence. We keep the Gen-3. Keep the Vz. 58, submit the rest. By the way, you heard about the mess at Headquarters, right?"
"Yes." Nygma nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't… anticipate…"
"Not your fault. Lack of intel and manpower, nothing anyone could do." Jay sighed. "Any idea how to bait this guy out?"
"There are ways, but they're difficult to execute." Nygma gave a mocking smile.
"For example, he's in the shadows, which makes him a ghost. You could have the city negotiate with him—give him a 'territory' to make him put down roots, then wipe him out once he's stationary. But that's too humiliating; the government would never agree."
"Or full martial law. Centralized food rationing to starve him out," Jay followed the train of thought. "But the cost is too high."
"Also, where are these people living? Water, power, food… if we closely monitored changes in energy consumption across Gotham's districts, we might find something. But that requires inter-departmental cooperation."
Nygma rubbed his chin. "Didn't you see the news this morning? The Mayor denounced the 'terrorist acts' and demanded Loeb crack the case in three days as penance."
"Shit, that's just hot air. One idiot commanding another." Jay spat in disdain. "And Falcone got hit for another stack of cash. I bet he's about to blow a fuse."
He stood up shakily. "Whatever. I'm guessing Bob will call a meeting once he's back. We'll pool our ideas then."
"Jay, wait."
Nygma stopped him. "If we really want to dig them out, it's possible. House by house, block by block. But don't forget, these are heavily armed terrorists. Even if someone accidentally gets close to them…"
His face grew somber. "How many of our East Precinct boys are going to die?"
"Our East Precinct, huh? I like the sound of that."
Jay patted him on the shoulder. "There'll be a way. Taking the fall for a disaster? We'll leave that to someone else."
——————
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