Although he had pushed open the door to the Chief's office countless times, Jay still felt like he was stumbling into a burning building.
"Cough, cough… can't you smoke less? I just got back and I have to endure this torment. Be careful…"
He reached up to his neck, fumbling to open the window. He watched Bob hurriedly pull on his jacket with a shiver, then pulled a mask from his pocket and put it on his face.
"Glad I came prepared."
"It's five degrees below zero outside, and you just casually open the window like that!" Bob complained as he put on his clothes and wrapped a scarf around his neck. "Besides, smoking a lot or a little makes no difference.
My neighbor never smoked, yet he only lived to be thirty."
"Because of cancer?"
"Because of a car accident."
Jay rolled his eyes in exasperation: "So what the hell does that have to do with smoking?"
"It just proves that life is unpredictable." Bob crushed his cigarette butt in the ashtray. "How are the two rookies doing?"
"Anna is okay, growing fast, but she's sometimes emotional, quite reckless, and not ready to work alone. As for Allen…"
Jay tapped the desk slowly a few times. "Excellent. Diligent, meticulous, responsible, and good at planning, but he lacks quick wit, and practical combat and on-the-spot command are his weak points."
"Alright, do you intend to keep both of them?"
"They could partner up, or maybe I'll assign Anna to Wilson later… Wait," he suddenly remembered something. "Wasn't Wilson less than three months into his job before he got injured? Won't he be the most junior guy again when he gets back?"
"And you plan to mock him for it, I suppose." Bob shook his head with a look of resignation. "Grow up. If you're that idle, help me solve a problem."
"What?" Jay was startled. "Did someone get caught jerking off in their car by a reporter again?"
"Not that. Falcone approached me, demanding that we catch that cloaked freak as soon as possible." Bob held a cigarette between his fingers, smelling it. "What did he dress up as? A pigeon?"
"A bat."
"Right, a bat. First an owl, now a bat. Gotham should really build a bird museum." Bob forced a wry smile and sank slowly into his chair back.
"If it weren't for the Romans and Maroni's bounties, we'd probably have a wave of copycats on the streets already. Speaking of which, what about Otis? Doesn't he have sources? Who the hell is that maniac?"
"I don't know. The guy didn't leave a single trace of information. We have nowhere to start the investigation." Jay didn't dare tell the truth and invented an excuse. "He's been watching Child Protective Services recently, though…"
Ding-a-ling-a-ling…
A string of phone rings interrupted him. Bob waved a hand at him, sat up, and picked up the receiver.
"…It's me. What? Oh, yes, of course… yes… exactly! OMG! Of course, welcome! On behalf of all officers, I express my deepest respect and gratitude for Mr. Wayne's generosity. No problem… everything will be arranged. Good, see you soon!"
Click!
The receiver was dropped back onto the phone. Bob pressed his hands on the desk, his face flushed with excitement as he looked around.
"Look, the heir to Wayne Enterprises, the generous, great, kind, and wise Master Bruce Wayne heard your speech in front of Central Headquarters and is coming this afternoon to donate funds to the East Precinct!"
Bob suddenly shot up and grabbed Jay's arm. "You have to come with me! Quick, what do we do now? Should we clear out the cells?"
"Don't be stupid. Clearing out the cells proves you never do anything!" Jay looked at him with disdain. "Anyway, the desks and equipment are run-down enough.
Tell them to hide any good equipment they have.
Also, clean the place up, but pile the files high, almost falling off the desks.
We need the rich people to think the East Precinct is poor, but dedicated and striving for improvement—they just can't better fulfill their duty because they lack money."
"You're absolutely right, that's exactly what I was thinking." Bob snatched the phone and dialed the internal line. "Notify everyone, start the deep clean! Now!"
Getting results often works much faster when arranged from the top down than when pushed from the bottom up.
Before noon, the main areas of the desks and floors were scrubbed clean, and any cracks in the windows were sealed with tape.
Trash and lurid magazines from the drawers were thrown out, but empty coffee cups were deliberately saved and casually tossed in the trash bins.
According to Bob: "If anyone dares to hold back on this, I'll break their third leg!"
Hearing this, a female officer sighed in relief: "Thank goodness."
Unexpectedly, Bob changed tack: "For those who don't have a third leg, drag them out and beat the place where the third leg should be!"
Female Officers: ???
The preparatory work was complete just as Wayne Enterprises' black Rolls-Royce Silver Spur drove into the East Precinct parking lot.
Bob watched from the window as uniformed officers guided the motorcade into the specially cleared parking area, sighing involuntarily.
"They said over the phone that Mr. Wayne wanted to keep it low-profile."
"Maybe this is their lowest-profile car." Jay sighed deeply next to him. "I need to go to the hospital for eye drops, or I'll surely cry from envy tomorrow."
"Envy won't help, that's just fate."
Bob led Jay towards the lobby entrance. They stood between the second glass door and the main entrance, watching the man walk in, surrounded by bodyguards, assistants, and reporters.
He was like an expensive beam of light, abruptly cleaving into this grey, messy space. Even the dust motes in the air seemed to shrink before the halo around him.
His gleaming custom leather shoes trod on the stained and cracked terrazzo floor, like a profound king stepping onto his domain.
Bob stepped forward and extended his hand. "Mr. Wayne, it's a pleasure to welcome you to the East Precinct."
Bruce Wayne nodded slightly, shaking Bob McGinnis's hand. "Chief McGinnis, I saw the speech of your officer on the news and was moved by the dedication and spirit of service of your precinct's officers.
It made me want to personally support those on the front lines. I hope I haven't interrupted your work."
"Of course not. We are here to serve the citizens of the East End and all of Gotham." Bob gestured toward the stairs. "The coffee and donuts are quite good today. Would you like a cup before the tour?"
"Though I'm somewhat particular about coffee, I never refuse police station coffee. And… this is the Officer Li who spoke in the news?" Bruce turned and extended his hand to Jay. "Pleased to meet you, Officer."
"Oh, oh… I am also… very pleased to meet you, Mr. Wayne."
Jay awkwardly wiped his palm on his sleeve before shaking Bruce Wayne's hand. "You can call me Jay."
"Alright, Jay." Bruce Wayne smiled, then turned back to Bob. "Please lead the way, Chief."
Watching the two walk toward the back, Anna leaned in, asking with envy in a low voice: "Hey! Sir, how does it feel to shake hands with a billionaire?"
The grip was steady, but the strength was somewhat lacking. Maybe the rumors of injury are true?
He composed himself, then held his hand out to Anna. "Check if any gold rubbed off onto it."
Anna stared at Wayne's retreating back, murmuring, "That cashmere coat alone is five years of my salary… Sir, can I stand next to you when he leaves?"
"You can. The souvenir is yours to present." Jay handed her a tray. "But don't dream of becoming Mrs. Wayne. The fire in your eyes is about to set the precinct ablaze."
"I was just thinking. Who wouldn't want a handsome, rich boyfriend? Look at that perfect jawline." Anna sighed, pouting in disappointment. "Never mind. He's too much of a playboy; he's not right for me."
The tour lasted about twenty minutes. Everyone returned to the makeshift platform set up in the lobby. An assistant wheeled a felt-covered cart nearby.
Bruce stood on the right side and, together with Bob, lifted a corner of the felt, displaying a blank check board bearing the Wayne Enterprises LOGO to the reporters' cameras.
The sound of the pen scratching against the check board was crisp—a '1', followed by a clean six zeros.
Bob's breathing stopped abruptly, as if that string of numbers had sucked all the air out of his lungs. Then, his mouth uncontrollably stretched into a grin that nearly reached his ears.
If Jay hadn't subtly poked him with a pen tip from behind, he might have burst out laughing right there.
"…Mr. Wayne, thank you for your support of the police department and public services. This will mean… safer streets for our children…"
Jay listened from behind. Bob's public speaking was indeed poised and impeccable, but his composure… was seriously about to break.
"Chief, it's an honor to support the people who guard the soul of Gotham. And…" Bruce glanced at his watch and extended his hand to Bob. "I believe I've taken up too much of your time fighting crime."
The two shook hands. He accepted the souvenir and turned toward the door. Bob's farewell stopped at the entrance hall, while Jay escorted Bruce out.
Walking down the steps, Bruce suddenly paused and said softly:
"Jay, there are no cameras now. Can I ask you a question… perhaps a bit personal?"
"Of course, Mr. Wayne. For the sake of the one-million-dollar donation, I wouldn't hide it even if you asked about me wetting my pants as a kid."
"Oh, that won't be necessary." Bruce Wayne smiled, but his expression immediately turned serious. "What do you think of your Chief Bob McGinnis?"
"What do I think?" Jay feigned ignorance and scratched his head. "He… he's a good man."
"Uh… I mean…" Bruce chose his words carefully. "Does he seem to have… certain rumors of things like… corruption?"
"Absolutely not." Jay firmly shook his head in denial. "That's too much. How could those be rumors—those are facts."
"(´°Δ°`)!"
Bruce Wayne was visibly shocked. He had expected denial, and he had considered the possibility of a whispered confession. But this matter-of-fact, public admission was quite unexpected.
He took a breath and tentatively asked, "Then you just said… he's a good man…"
"That's right. Him being a good man and him being corrupt are not contradictory." Jay nodded. "If you ask me, what one has done isn't important; the result of their actions is.
He takes black money but manages to stabilize the East End.
No one is publicly complaining, and things aren't descending into complete chaos. That's much better than those idealists who constantly mess things up."
"Are you referring to… the cloaked freak?"
"I don't know what his ideals are. I don't even know what he wants to do. The greatest possibility right now is that he's a sales booster for orthopedic surgeons."
"He wants to…" Bruce paused, suddenly changing his tone. "You're right. Who knows what ideas a maniac like that has. Also, the cleanliness of your environment today was a last-minute rush, wasn't it?"
"Uh… you noticed?" Jay shrugged. "No choice. We couldn't very well let you sign a check on top of a pizza box, could we?"
"Heh heh."
Bruce Wayne smiled and placed a business card in Jay's hand. "Well said, Jay. You can call me directly if you need anything."
"No problem."
Jay watched the extended Rolls-Royce motorcade slowly pull out of the parking lot, then lightly flicked the business card. "Nice. High-quality material. I can sell this for at least fifty bucks."
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