"Ugh... fuck... fuck..."
Marco slapped one hand over his face and let out a string of groans while the other fumbled blindly across the nightstand. His fingers finally closed around the phone that was blaring like a car alarm, and he angrily jabbed the screen to hang up. Less than ten seconds later, the ringing started again.
"FUCK! I'm on vacation! Why am I waking up earlier than a work day?!"
Cursing under his breath, he dragged the phone in front of his bleary eyes. The old brick phone displayed the caller's name: Bob.
"Shit." Marco exhaled heavily and pressed the answer button.
"Chief. You do remember I'm on vacation, right?"
"I do. But we've got a problem." Bob's voice was low and rough. "You need to come to my office. Now. Don't worry, it won't take long."
"...Alright. See you soon."
Marco sighed and tossed the phone aside. He couldn't exactly tell Bob he already knew about the prisoner transfer case, so he had no choice but to throw off the blanket. The cold air hit him, and goosebumps exploded across his skin. He immediately dove back under the covers.
"What the hell?! It's freezing!"
He wrapped the blanket around himself like a cape and shuffled on tiptoes to the window. Outside, there wasn't a single snowflake in sight. Then he hop-stepped his way to the radiator and pressed his palm against it. Ice-cold.
"Damn it! I paid for heating!"
He banged on the radiator a few times, but percussive maintenance failed to work its magic. With a resigned grimace, he forced himself to get dressed as fast as humanly possible, teeth chattering the whole time. He hadn't even made it downstairs when the phone rang again.
"I'm not Superman, stop rushing me!" he snapped, yanking the phone out of his pocket. But the name on the screen wasn't Bob.
It was Clark.
"Speak of the devil," he muttered. "Or speak of Superman, I guess."
He answered. "Hey, Clark. Got good news?"
"Hi, Marco. Can you bring the kid to Metropolis this afternoon? Three o'clock, Metropolis Stadium. We got in touch with the Metropolis Suns, and their owner, Mr. Daines, said he's willing to take a look."
"That is good news. I'll get him there. Thanks, Clark. I owe you one."
"No problem. See you then."
Marco hung up and felt a small weight lift off his chest. Even if everything else went sideways, even if Waylon still ended up becoming Killer Croc somewhere down the line, at least in Metropolis, he'd be Superman's problem. And Superman could handle him with one hand tied behind his back. Literally.
When he walked into the precinct, most of the desks were still empty. A few early birds sat slouched in their chairs, lazily flipping through newspapers like they had nowhere better to be. He ignored them and headed straight for the captain's office. He knocked once and opened the door.
"Holy hell. Did you host a bonfire in here last night?"
The room was thick with smoke, a choking haze that made his eyes water. Bob was slumped in his oversized chair, bloodshot eyes staring at nothing. When he saw Marco, he tapped the desk and gestured to the chair across from him. They sat in silence for a moment before Bob finally spoke.
"Major Crimes at HQ wants to dump the prisoner transport case back on the East End."
Marco nodded. "And?"
"You don't seem surprised." Bob exhaled a smoke ring, his face flickering in and out of the smog. "Don't worry. Having your own intel sources isn't a bad thing."
"What intel?" Marco shrugged. "You haven't even explained the situation yet. Give me a second to be surprised."
"Fair enough. My bad." Bob took another drag and blew out a thick cloud. "According to HQ's interrogation results, those robbers were working for Fish Mooney. The prisoner, Ian Hagrove, is an explosives expert. They were planning to break him out so he could blow open Falcone's vault."
Ah.
Marco vaguely remembered the name from some TV show he'd watched in his old life, but the details were fuzzy. The only thing he really remembered about the vault explosion was money raining down like confetti at the end.
"Mooney works for Falcone, right?" Marco asked. Bob nodded. He thought for a few seconds. "So she's planning to betray him? And HQ doesn't want to piss off either side?"
"It's worse than that." Bob's voice dropped into a low growl. "You know how many of Falcone's people are embedded in the department? This intel probably leaked the second it came in. Damn it, if I'd heard about it sooner, I could've traded the tip to Falcone for at least fifty grand."
He slammed his fist on the desk. "HQ takes all the benefits and leaves East End to clean up the mess!"
"And Mooney probably already knows she's been exposed," Marco added. "She's got her own sources."
"Exactly. I may not stick my nose into everything, but I'm not blind." Bob crushed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. "Gordon's partner, Bullock? He's probably got something going with Mooney on the side."
"So? You called me in here just because you didn't get your informant payout?"
"So?" Bob lit another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his haggard face. "That surviving robber is evidence. Falcone wants him alive to prove he's fair and just. Mooney wants him dead before he talks. HQ is calling it a routine robbery case and shoving both the suspect and the responsibility onto East End."
"Can't you refuse? Major Crimes signed off on the case during the transfer."
"They're saying East End is the incident location, and East End officers responded first. Then they claimed Gordon overstepped, violated protocol, wasted resources, and kicked him out of Major Crimes entirely. On top of that, they're blocking personnel decisions and resource approvals. Motherfuckers! You should've let those idiots rot in Blackgate!"
"So let Mooney talk to Falcone. When they settle it, they can tell us the result. Problem solved, right?"
"No. You need to understand something, that woman is both crazy and stupid." Bob shook his head. "She thinks that just because she's got a title, she can do whatever she wants. That everyone should bend over backward for her. She doesn't understand that power is about compromise and mutual benefit. She'll just demand we hand over the witness or kill him ourselves. Otherwise..."
"Otherwise what?" Marco spread his hands. "Is she gonna attack the East End precinct?"
"Congratulations. You guessed right." Bob's smile was ugly. "She really would."
"Then... who's harder to deal with, her or Falcone? And Jesus—" Marco took a breath and immediately started coughing. "Can you smoke less?!"
"Falcone. Obviously." A flicker of fear crossed Bob's eyes. "Nobody stands up to the Roman. He wants us to hand over the prisoner just to show everyone he's fair and impartial. Mooney is terrified that once Falcone has the evidence, he'll immediately move to clean house."
"Then what's there to hesitate about? Mooney doesn't have the muscle to stand against Falcone. The whole thing was an accident, she got exposed. Otherwise, she wouldn't need to sneak around blowing up vaults. She could just blow up Falcone's bathroom." Marco leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We back Falcone. Use this case to squeeze HQ for concessions, then squeeze Falcone for concessions. As for Mooney, we can't please everyone. So we fight her."
"Now that's the kind of fire I like to see!" Bob's face lit up with a grin. "I knew you had it in you. Look at those useless bastards out there, scared, lazy, waiting to collect their pensions. You're the future of this department, kid."
He staggered over and pulled Marco into a clumsy hug. "I already told HQ, tomorrow afternoon, you and Wilson are picking up the prisoner."
"FUCK! That's crossing the line!" Marco shoved him off. "My vacation is only on day four! And you're dumping a massive shitstorm on me? You planned this from the start, didn't you? Do you even remember if you're a police captain or a mob boss?!"
"You should remember department regulations," Bob said, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smirk. "In emergency situations or staff shortages, the department has the right to terminate an officer's vacation. Compensatory leave or overtime pay will be provided afterward."
"And the benefits?" Marco's eyes narrowed. "This isn't regular overtime. Without something worthwhile, you can forget it."
Bob glared at him, but there was no real heat in it. "Let me make this clear, I don't have that much money to throw around."
"Cash is one thing. But right now, I need two automatic or semi-automatic long guns with ammo, fifty solid slugs, body armor with level-three plates, an operating budget, and—"
"Hey! Hey!" Bob rapped his knuckles on the desk. "I don't have a red suit and a sleigh full of presents. I can't fulfill your Christmas wishlist."
"No, this is realistic." Marco shook his head. "If Mooney is as crazy as you say, she might hit us the moment we leave HQ tomorrow. I don't want to get turned into Swiss cheese."
"I know, but HQ won't approve that much equipment." Bob sighed, he'd probably sighed more today than in the past six months combined. "Loeb is even more corrupt than I am."
"You need to change your perspective." Marco leaned over the desk. "Don't think of it as us requesting approval from HQ. We're solving their problem for them. They should provide everything. And not just the equipment, you can ask for more. A new armored transport vehicle, more personnel autonomy, more control over resource approvals, double the budget, bonuses, a mobile response squad..."
"Hold on, hold on." Bob raised a hand, his breathing quickening. "Why the hell would they agree to any of that? It sounds great, but they'll never say yes."
"Why not?" Marco grinned. "Because a mutual loss is better than them losing alone. If they refuse, we walk away. Let them deal with Falcone. You think Grogan or Loeb would take that risk? And even if they refuse everything and force us to take the case anyway, how is that different from the current situation? What do we have to lose?"
"You really are shrewd, aren't you?" A smile crept across Bob's face. "But isn't that asking for too much? We need to be realistic."
"So what? They'll negotiate anyway. As long as you're not planning to kick Loeb out and take his seat, everything's on the table." Marco stood up and brushed ash off his jacket. "But move fast. We need the equipment in hand by tomorrow morning."
"Hah. You really don't respect me at all." Bob leaned back in his chair and waved him away. "Get lost. I need to figure out how to write this damn report."