The iron gates of the Falcone estate groaned open for the assault vehicle. Compared to his last visit, the number of guards in the courtyard had doubled. Every man looked grim, hands hovering over holsters, the air crackling with the tension of a drawn bowstring.
"Tsk… at this rate, I'm going to end up with a VIP membership." Jay clicked his tongue as he watched the sea of armed men. "Stay sharp. Watch the car, don't go looking for trouble. I'm not sure how much sanity the old man has left."
He opened the door and gritted his teeth as he climbed out, leaving Anna and Wilson inside.
Inside the drawing-room, the scene was a far cry from the usual elegant, steady Tuscan atmosphere. Carmine Falcone wasn't sitting in his customary armchair; instead, he paced before the fireplace like an agitated old lion.
The expensive rug beneath him bore several fresh, dark red stains.
The room was more crowded than before. Aside from Victor Zsasz, several middle-aged capos sat or stood around, trembling.
In the center of the room, Oswald Cobblepot was being held upright by two hulking brutes. He was barely conscious, his face a mask of blood, his once-tailored suit shredded.
Blood dripped from the jagged gashes at the corners of his mouth and eyes, pooling into dark blots on the carpet.
"Umm… Don Falcone," Jay kept his voice as level as possible. "Looks like I've come at a bad time?"
Falcone spun around. His eyes were heavy with bags and shot through with a web of red capillaries. The constant psychological toll and fury seemed to have drained his physical energy, but the sharp, predatory glint of a warlord remained in the depths of his gaze.
"No, you've arrived exactly on time, Captain." His voice was low, vibrating with suppressed rage. "Let's take a look at this backstabbing piece of filth."
He pointed to a television set playing a recording, likely captured by a hidden security camera. A gang of robbers in skull masks was looting a vault. They moved with brutal efficiency, gunning down guards one by one.
Near the end of the footage, a limping figure approached the camera, lingering for a brief moment in front of the lens.
"See that, Captain?" Falcone walked over to Cobblepot, grabbed a handful of his sweaty hair, and jerked his bloody face toward the screen. "Look at that walk. Is there another 'big player' in all of Gotham who walks like that?"
"Eh…" Jay rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "Can I see that again? Closely?"
Falcone fixed him with a cold, predatory stare for a few seconds before nodding slightly and tossing him the remote.
Jay looked around and spotted a chubby middle-aged capo sitting in the center of a two-seater sofa. He walked over without ceremony and nudged the man with his hip.
"Mind giving up the seat?"
The gathered capos of the Falcone family glared at him, their expressions murderous. But Jay, utterly unfazed, squeezed in and hit the rewind button. The VCR whirred as it spun the tape back to the beginning.
The thugs in the footage looked no different from the ones who had hit the previous vaults—ferociously violent, killing a dozen guards in rapid succession. Jay noted two or three timestamps in his head.
When the tape froze at the end, he shook his head at The Roman.
"With all due respect, Don Falcone… I think there's a problem with this footage."
"Go on."
Falcone sank back into his sofa. His skin looked sallow and slack; he seemed to have aged years in the last two months.
Jay rewound the tape to his mental timestamps and played them back.
"Look here, and here…"
He pointed at the limping robber's path through the vault. "This guy stays perfectly still for a second or two in plain view of the camera, almost as if he's worried it won't catch his good side."
"If Cobblepot was actually stupid enough to rob your vault—assuming for a moment he had the guts and the resources—would he be dumb enough to flaunt his most recognizable physical trait?
If he were truly that idiotic, he wouldn't have the brains to pull off a heist this efficient and surgical."
"Furthermore, at that exact time last night, he was at the Robinson Park reservoir per police instructions, conducting a trade with Black Mask. He couldn't have been in two places at once."
Dead silence filled the room. Falcone stared intently at Jay, then turned back to the frozen, limping silhouette on the screen. The wildfire in his eyes began to dim.
"Are you suggesting someone is framing Cobblepot? Who would do such a thing?"
"I have a few questions of my own. First, how much did you lose? Second, how many people knew the location of this vault? Third, how many people knew Cobblepot's itinerary last night?"
Jay counted them off on his fingers. "For instance, if it were me, I wouldn't have chosen last night to frame him, because I know he has a rock-solid alibi."
Not a single soul in the room spoke, terrified that a single word would draw the heat toward them. After a long silence, Falcone gave a soft grunt.
"No more than ten people knew the location of that vault. Are you telling me I have another rat in my house who made off with twelve million dollars and tossed the bill to the Penguin?"
Twelve million!
Jay considered himself a man who had seen some real money lately, someone who could keep his cool. But at the mention of that figure, his eyebrow still twitched involuntarily.
"It's likely more than ten," Jay said, palms out, struggling to keep his face neutral. "I assume you've heard what happened at the GCPD last night? We used to think Headquarters was an iron fortress."
"Yes, I heard…"
Falcone waved his hand. The middle-aged capos looked as if they'd received a divine pardon; they bowed quickly and scurried out of the room.
Jay watched the man next to him squeeze out of the sofa and pointed to himself in question, but Falcone gestured for him to stay seated.
"I hear the GCPD suffered heavy losses last night?"
"Yeah," Jay nodded bluntly. "A whole building of cops pinned down by a dozen guys. They didn't even dare to poke their heads out."
"In all honesty, that is deeply disappointing," Falcone said, shaking his head slowly. "I didn't think the GCPD had fallen so far. What about Gordon? Has he lost his courage as well?"
"Detective Gordon and I were getting played at Arkham. And if he had stayed at the precinct, it wouldn't have been his courage he lost—it would've been his life."
Jay gave Falcone a thin smile. "Don, you can't expect the GCPD to be as submissive as sheep one day and as fierce as tigers the next."
"Yes… you're right."
Falcone looked at him, but his focus seemed to drift toward some uncertain distance. It took a long moment for him to snap back, letting out a long, weary sigh.
"First that masked lunatic calling himself Batman, then the cultists, and now these reckless, violent robbing madmen… Captain, what has happened to our city? Why is the Gotham that was peaceful, warm, and felt like home gone forever?"
Shit, which one of those words has ever described this city?
Jay waved a hand. "I don't know why, but…" He pointed at Cobblepot, who was still hanging between the guards. "In my experience, if he doesn't get to a hospital soon, he's not going to make it."
"Ah! Yes, quite right. I almost forgot."
Falcone seemed to wake from a dream. He stood up, walked over to Cobblepot, leaned down, and squinted at the mangled face.
"Oh, I am sorry, my boy." He reached out and gently brushed a smudge of semi-congealed blood from the corner of Cobblepot's mouth.
He turned back to Jay, his face returning to that mask of gentle, detached politeness. "Captain, would you be so kind as to escort him to the hospital?"
"Sure." Jay shrugged. He took Cobblepot from the two guards, hoisting him up and draping him over his shoulder. "But for the record, I'm not making any promises on whether he lives or dies."
"Thank you, Jay. You're a good boy." Falcone smiled warmly, stepping aside. "And rest assured, I will deal with these robbers in my own way."
Jay's footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second, but he didn't look back. He carried Cobblepot out of the room, across the courtyard, and toward the assault vehicle under the watchful eyes of the guards.
"What a mess!"
Jay yanked the door open, letting Anna and Wilson take Cobblepot and lay him in the back. He climbed in after them.
"Go. Drive. Get this guy to a hospital."
He patted the back of the driver's seat. Anna started the engine and shifted into gear. The assault vehicle slowly turned around and drove away from the Falcone estate.
"Don, is the Penguin truly off the hook?" Zsasz watched the retreating vehicle from the window, his small knife spinning rapidly in his hand. "If you give him to me, I can make him tell the truth."
"No, Victor. I don't believe it was him. He might have the ambition, but he lacks the spine and the courage."
Falcone smiled calmly. "I was merely using the opportunity to remind him of his place. I hear he's been getting quite close to the police lately—especially this Jay. Driving up in a police vehicle so boldly… it seems the GCPD has forgotten who this city belongs to."
"Jay… tha… thank you…"
As the car turned onto the gravel road away from the estate, Jay looked down. Cobblepot opened his swollen, blurry eyes, his mouth twitching as he managed a faint rasp.
"Save the thanks, Cobblepot. I want to know…"
He shook his head and leaned down, his voice a low whisper. "Did you actually rob that vault?"
"No… it wasn't… I… swear… by God…"
"Leave God out of it. You know I don't believe in that." Jay stared unblinkingly into Cobblepot's face, his expression stone-cold. "Swear on your mother's life it wasn't you."
But there was no answer.
In the roar and vibration of the assault vehicle, the light in Cobblepot's eyes faded, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.
——————
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