The officials were still shaking when Marco helped the last of them to their feet. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking through their expensive suits and plastering their styled hair to their skulls. One of them, a middle-aged man with jowls like a bulldog, looked at Marco with confusion, then relief.
Marco pulled his badge out of his jacket pocket and held it up. "GCPD. East End."
The terror on their faces ebbed slightly. The man straightened his tie, which was hanging half-off anyway, and lifted his chin.
"Officer. Thank you for your assistance." His tone made it sound like Marco had done something mildly distasteful. "Now, I'll need you to locate a vehicle and escort us to Gotham Police Department headquarters. The East End precinct will suffice for temporary shelter."
Marco stared at him. The guy had nearly been kidnapped by armed mercenaries, almost burned alive by a pyromaniac, and he was still looking down his nose like Marco was the help.
"You'll need me to do what now?"
"A vehicle, officer."
Before Marco could tell him exactly where he could shove his vehicle request, a minibus screeched to a halt next to them, tires throwing up a wave of dirty water. The driver's door opened, and a figure jumped out. It was one of the mercenaries from earlier, the one who had gone to find another vehicle.
He took one look at the scene and everything clicked.
They stared at each other for maybe two seconds. Then the merc reached for his weapon.
Marco's hand was faster. The Colt 1911 cleared leather and came up in one motion, pressing against the merc's forehead before his fingers even touched the AK slung across his chest.
BANG.
The shot was loud enough to make everyone flinch. The councilor screamed. Someone else started crying. The mercenary's head snapped back, and a spray of pink mist and gray matter erupted from the exit wound, splattering across the pavement. The rain immediately started washing it away, turning the blood into thin red streams that ran toward the gutters.
Marco holstered his weapon, wiped the rain off his face, and turned back to the group of officials. They were all staring at him.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" Marco asked pleasantly. "Something about needing me to find you a ride?"
The man's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. No sound came out.
Marco gestured toward the minibus. "Keys are probably still in the ignition. You know how to drive, right? East End's that way. Don't get lost."
He turned and walked back toward his car, leaving them standing in the rain.
---
"So you just left them there?"
"What was I supposed to do? Carry them?" Marco was leaning back in his desk chair, feet up, tossing a batarang from hand to hand. It was the one Batman had thrown earlier. "They had a vehicle and directions. Problem solved."
Edward shook his head. "You're gonna catch hell for that. Those were city councilors."
"Let 'em complain. I'm not their chauffeur."
Anna, Otis, Edward, Darnell all crammed into the small space, along with Bastien, who was currently perched on Otis' shoulder making angry chittering sounds. The rain hammered against the windows, and someone had made coffee that tasted like water, but nobody was complaining. They were all still riding the adrenaline high from last night.
"Darnell, catch!" Marco flicked his wrist and threw the batarang across the room.
Everyone immediately ducked and covered their heads. The batarang spun through the air, hit the wall, ricocheted off at a crazy angle, and embedded itself in the back of the chair next to Otis.
Bastien squeaked and dove into Otis' jacket pocket.
Darnell straightened up, and glared. "Are you trying to kill us?!"
"I knew where it was going." Marco grinned. "Mostly."
He pulled a small bag of peanuts from his desk drawer and shook it. Bastien's head immediately popped out of the pocket, whiskers twitching. The rat's expression shifted from angry to sycophantic in record time, and he scampered across the desk, grabbed a peanut with both paws, and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Traitor," Otis muttered.
"Anyway." Edward cleared his throat, pulling everyone's attention back. He set a folder on the desk, internal GCPD reports, marked confidential. "Things didn't go as well on Gordon's end last night. One of his officers was killed. Another injured. If Batman hadn't shown up, it would've been much worse. He drove off eight mercs and disarmed a bomb they'd planted."
Marco's grin faded. "Shit. Which officer?"
"I don't know the name. Patrol cop, three years on the job." Edward flipped open the folder. "But that's not the worst news. Black Mask hit Blackgate last night and absorbed almost three hundred hardened criminals. Then he pulled out and seized territory in the West End."
"How much territory?" Marco's feet came off the desk. "We talking a block? A neighborhood?"
"Everything south of Dixon Docks. And he's pushing north toward Falcone's estate." Edward traced a line on the map pinned to the wall. "The Roman's recruiting heavily now. Looks like we're heading toward a full-scale gang war."
Marco rubbed his face. "I thought we could keep this contained. Mob versus mob, let them tear each other apart, we mop up the survivors."
"That ship has sailed," Edward said quietly. "The East End's outgunned. We can't handle this kind of escalation."
"What about the arsonist? Firefly?"
"Caught. Brought back to GCPD headquarters. His name's Garfield Lynns. Former special effects technician, apparently. He developed an obsession with fire after losing his job."
"Another psycho for the collection." Marco looked at Edward. "Otis told me you made some kind of electric cane?"
Otis perked up. "Yeah! I saw it! He zapped that bat-creature, sent it flying like ten meters!"
"It's nothing special." Edward's tone was dismissive, but his expression was anything but. He looked proud as hell. "Just a little something I put together. After you got hurt at Arkham, I realized I needed to be able to defend myself. I'm not great with guns, so I built a taser cane based on—"
"Based on the same principles as those shock batons riot cops use," Marco finished. "I've seen the design. It's good work."
Edward's smile widened slightly. "I'm also reverse-engineering some of the tech the Mad Hatter left behind. Projection systems, maybe some light hypnotic suggestion protocols. If I can integrate that into the cane..." He spread his hands. "Well. Let's just say it'll be more than a fancy stun gun."
Everyone in the office exchanged confused looks, then started clapping.
"Uh... good job?" Anna tried.
"Very impressive," Darnell added, clearly having no idea what Edward was talking about.
"I don't know how impressive it actually is," Marco said, still clapping, "but it sounds impressive, so that's what counts."
Edward rolled his eyes but looked pleased anyway.
Marco stood up, stretching. "Alright. Anna, you and Otis work with Edward on the dismemberment case. I'm officially handing that off to you three."
"Really?!" Anna looked like she'd just won the lottery. "I won't let you down, sir!"
"You will let me down at some point," Darnell muttered, "but that's how you learn."
"What about you?" Edward asked. "Where are you going?"
Marco thought for a moment. "I'm going to visit a friend."
---
"You want what?!"
Cobblepot sat bolt upright in his hospital bed, nearly yanking out his IV in the process. His face had gone pale, well, paler than usual, and he was staring at Marco like he'd just asked for the nuclear launch codes.
"A bigger gun," Marco repeated calmly, sitting in the visitor's chair with his feet propped on the bed frame. "The 7.62 isn't cutting it anymore."
Cobblepot settled back against his pillows, pulling the blanket up. "A bigger gun... Do you have any idea what you're asking for?"
"Something that'll punch through armor."
Cobblepot groaned. "You want something like a Barrett. Or a McMillan. Those aren't weapons. The government tracks every single serial number. The military keeps them under lock and key. Even the GCPD would have to fight tooth and nail to requisition one, and on the black market..." He shook his head. "You're talking about something money alone can't buy. Not quickly, anyway."
Marco nodded slowly. "What about a howitzer?"
"A what?"
"You know. Artillery. 155mm. Big boom."
"Are you insane?!" Cobblepot threw off his blanket. "This is our city! You can't just... you can't blow it up!"
"I'm not going to blow it up. I just need something with more punch than a rifle."
Cobblepot took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
"I do have... something. A rifle. Well, more like a cannon. Anti-materiel weapon. 14.5mm caliber, Soviet PTRD, if you're familiar. Armor-piercing incendiary rounds. Accuracy drops significantly past a thousand meters, but at five hundred? It'll punch through thirty-two millimeters of homogeneous steel plate."
Marco's eyebrows went up. "How'd you get your hands on that?"
"After the Soviet Union collapsed, a lot of military hardware found its way onto the black market. Let's just say I have connections."
"I'll take it."
Marco stood up to leave. Cobblepot grabbed his arm.
"Aren't you going to ask about the price? That rifle alone costs at least fifty thousand dollars. Cash. Up front."
Marco looked at him blankly. "Why would I pay cash?"
"What do you mean, why—"
"I'm putting it on the tab."
"What?! You're putting it on the tab again?! Do you have any idea how much you already owe me? You've never paid for a single thing!"
Marco patted his shoulder. "We agreed on a six-million-dollar line of credit, remember? I haven't even hit two million yet. And think about it, if you back out now, wouldn't all your previous investments be wasted?"
Cobblepot forced a smile onto his face.
"We're going to succeed, right? This is all going to work out, and I'm going to get paid back. Right, Marco?"
"Trust me." Marco grinned. "When have I ever let you down?"
Cobblepot's expression suggested he had a very long list of times Marco had let him down, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.