“The police cannot protect the citizen at this stage of our development, and they cannot even protect themselves in many cases. It is up to the private citizen to protect himself and his family, and this is not only acceptable, but mandatory.”
Jeff Cooper
“Entirely too much energy of our state police force is [spent] controlling honest citizens, simply because it is something they can succeed in doing.”
Robert W. Burke
*******
James Gordon irritably slammed a fist down on his alarm. It seemed like he got less and less sleep these days.
He sat up in the darkness of his apartment and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was early, too early, just like it had been every day of the past five years.
There were times when he found it hard to remember exactly why he had left Chicago behind for this. Oh, he knew objectively; to help clean up a corrupt city.
What a joke.
Gritting his teeth, he got up and went to shower.
*******
The rest of the SWAT Squad greeted him. He raised a hand but spoke no word, as they bundled themselves into their armored van. Half of them were on the take; the other half were overzealous nuts who would shoot someone for jaywalking if he let them. Inwardly, he sighed.
“Now, I know that we’re usually called in only to assist with crisis situations,” he began, “But this might be a situation of it’s own. Councilman Winick is corrupt as they come, and may very well have special weapons or some other trick up his sleeve.”
“You must have gone through a lot to get this warrant,” Sargent Bullock said, and there were nasty chuckles all around.
“Took some doing,” Gordon agreed. “But while we are prepared to use deadly force, the idea is to take him alive and, if possible, relatively unharmed. We want the charges to stick, and him to be in good enough shape to serve his time somewhere other than a prison infirmary. Am I understood?”
There were scowls on several faces, but they all nodded.
The SWAT van roared around a corner, and all of them shifted awkwardly, hanging on for dear life; when Devin was driving, anything could happen. Well, anything bad could happen.
The sad part was, this was the best crew he could gather in this sorry pit of a city. The zealots would follow his orders, and the the corrupt ones were only relatively so. In a city where some took the big payoffs, the corrupt cops under his command (like Bullock, for example) only took enough to make themselves quietly comfortable. Then there was Devin, the madwoman driving the van. As far as he could tell, she was neither zealot nor corrupt; she was simply a thrill-seeker. He couldn’t make up his mind if that made her better or worse.
But at the moment, he wasn’t thinking about any of that. He let his head hang and his eyes closed. His mind drifted back to the ex-wife he had left behind in Chicago...the baby girl he had only ever seen pictures of....
“Yo, Captain!” Bullock slapped his shoulder. “We’re here, boss!”
Gordon nodded wearily and without apology, strapping into his body armor, slipping on his yellow-lensed shooter’s glasses. It was another article of the relative trustworthiness of even the bribed cops in his unit that he could fall asleep without one of them taking him out.
They had parked around the corner from City hall; not that Winick would be expecting any trouble. He thought he was untouchable, like most scum in this city.
He was in for a surprise.
Gordon grinned to himself. Even Bullock would enjoy this one, he thought.
*******
Councilman Winick was not known for attending most council meetings, except for ones about pay raises, of course. Oh, he showed up occasionally otherwise, mostly for looks. But in a city of corrupt politicians, he was the worst of the worst. He absenteeism was the least of his crimes; what was more relevant was what he got up to when he was out on the town. To say that he had his fingers into everything was an understatement. He was on the short list of men who might one day replace Boss Thorne.
Gordon hoped to remove him from that list.
The SWAT squad quietly exited the van--even Bullock was keeping his mouth shut and his profile low for once--and swept towards the back of the building. Part of Gordon’s psyche wanted to storm through the front, but this was not a movie, and they were pushing the limits of legality as it was. The last thing he wanted to do was let Winick walk on some kind of technicality.
What he did want to do was scare the living daylights out of Winick. He could readily admit to drawing a small amount of satisfaction from that. Maybe that was why even Bullock was playing ball.
So they slipped around back, to a delivery entrance, and slipped in.
They startled a few secretaries and civil servants (more of an oxymoron in Gotham than anywhere else, even Washington), but they were cowed into silence. Gordon’s SWAT Squad had it’s reputation, certainly. Though they’d never done anything quite like this before. Gordon was counting on the shock of that fact adding to the silence.
Winick was in his office, haranguing somebody on the phone. “I don’t care what Pepcon says, they need that shipment out by the middle of next week! Talk to Bates, he’s always been...” Winick trailed off, staring into the barrels of three shotguns. “Look...let me...let me call you back.” Slowly he put the phone down.
Gordon admired the man’s poker face, though the sweat gave him away.
“Captain Gordon,” Winick said, trying to keep his voice level. “To what do I owe the honor of this....visitation?”
With one hand, keeping the other on his gun, Gordon slid the warrant onto the desk. “You’re under arrest for corruption, graft, bribery, and obstruction of justice.”
“Please,” said Bullock, “Please let us add resisting arrest.”
Winick ignored Gordon for a moment. “Tell me, Bullock, why you of all people? You’re no innocent.”
“Half Gordon’s crew ain’t,” Bullock returned. “But we ain’t idiots, either. And you’re not the only game in town.”
“I see. Your loss.”
“No,” Gordon all but snarled. “The only loss is yours. Come quietly.”
“Certainly,” Winick agreed, getting up slowly, hands up.
“Sir!” a secretary nervously poked her head around the corner. “Are you all right? Do you want me to call--”
“Call who, honey?” Devin asked her, turning to cover her. “We’re the police.”
“It’s all right, Miriam. I am confident this will all be resolved soon.” Winick smiled thinly at her, and she withdrew slowly.
“Don’t bet on it,” Gordon said.
“You’re not a betting man, Captain,” Winick sneered. “I am.”
“Turn around. You have the right to remain silent....”
*******
Two days later, Gordon stood in court and stared.
Unbelieving.
He knew this was Gotham. He knew that corruption was more than rife, it was a way of life. But even so...even so....
“The arrest procedure was not on form,” droned Judge Miligan. “The SWAT squad itself was unnecessary, but that in itself could be overlooked. However, the intimidation and threatening of both Councilman Winick and Miss Rothenberger was unforgivable. This was a corruption charge, not murder one. Such jackbooted tactics have no place in city hall. I am dismissing the charges, and before Captain Gordon decides to protest, he should count himself fortunate that there will be no reprisal against him. Really, this little stunt should cost him his badge.”
The gavel banged.
Winick walked out with a smirk.
Gordon sat down, hard.
After what seemed like a long time, he turned his head to look at Bullock. That worthy made a sour face and shrugged. “He can bribe more higher ups than you can wrangle warrants.”
Gordon considered, then discarded, the notion that Bullock was Boss Thorne’s pet spy on his team. He knew this town too well; Bullock was entirely too obvious. One of the zealots was play acting, or perhaps it was Devin. It didn’t matter, really. Clearly they had shot his case full of holes before it had even begun.
He got up slowly, feeling every ache in his body. “I have to go back to the office. Still have to fill out the remaining paperwork on this case.”
“Ah.....you’ll forgive me if I pass on helpin' out with that.”
Gordon merely nodded. He was tired. He was so tired.
*******
He walked through the headquarters of his precinct, past smirking beat cops, and snickering detectives at their desks.
With a heavy sigh, he threw his flack jacket aside and slumped behind his desk, turning on his computer to fill out the relevant forms before printing them out.
You’d think that a city so corrupt wouldn’t bother with all the red tape, he thought, and sighed.
He had been typing away for perhaps twenty minutes when a shadow fell over his desk. Blearily he looked up, and was startled to see it was Commissioner Breyfogle.
“How can I help you,” he asked, adding a sarcastic “Sir?”
Breyfogle’s smile was unpleasant. A portly man with thinning brown hair, his face became ratlike when he smiled. “It’s how I can help you, Gordon. After today’s events, you might be wondering why we keep you around.”
“Is this when I officially get laughed out of town?” Gordon asked bitterly. He would almost welcome it.
Breyfogle shrugged. “If you wanna leave, you can. But if you did, we’d just have to replace you.”
Gordon frowned, and his guts froze inside. “Replace me?”
“Even a town like this needs a poster boy. Especially a town like this. Any time the feds come sniffing--those we can’t buy off, which is most of 'em but not all--we have to hold somebody up as a good example. As proof that our city is making ‘progress.’” Breyfogle’s voice dripped with disdain.
Gordon hung his head. “So, I’m actually helping you.” He felt sick.
Breyfogle leaned against the edge of the desk. When Gordon looked up again, Breyfogle’s smile was more honest, and not entirely unsympathetic. That made it even worse.
“Do you want to quit?” the Commissioner asked.
“I need to....to go home and think about it,” Gordon said.
“Sure,” Breyfogle allowed graciously.
“Meanwhile, you can finish the damned paperwork,” Gordon said, and stormed out.
*******
“.....Councilman Winick was exonerated of all charges,” the newscaster said. “Strangely, the Councilman said no counter-charges would be filed against the overzealous SWAT squad who arrested him. In a public statement, he said they were only following through on a misguided sense of duty, and their vigilance should be commended--”
Gordon turned the television off. It took a great deal of effort not to throw the remote at the TV.
He returned his attention to the thin bean soup he was having for dinner. His mouth wanted it little and his stomach less, but he insisted. When it was finished he sat staring at the darkened television set for a long while.
Then he turned the lights out and went to bed. But for a long time he merely stared into the darkness of his bedroom, thinking.
Gotham was not merely a corrupt city; it hadn’t just slowly gone bad. It had been bad from its founding. From an anchorage for pirate and privateering vessels, to a place of smugglers and those criminals on the run from other cities, to America’s first true gangland town, long before Chicago, from whence he had come, was even attempting to claim that honor. He was a fool to even come here....but he had been so full of certainty that if they could beat back organized crime in Chicago, they could do the same here. That was what he had made his reputation on; helping to break the Viti crime family’s hold on the Windy City. But Gotham’s Consortium was no simple mafia; it was far more organized and subtle, entrenched in the city’s history and foundations. Today had been a real smack in the face; he was a fool not to have seen it coming....
It was true that he was devastated by the day’s events. But where else could he go? Not back to Chicago, that was for sure. He doubted his ex-wife would even let him see their child. And what other city would have him, now?
After a long time he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, tears welling behind his closed eyes as he realized he would probably stay.
*******
The next day he hadn’t been at his desk five minutes before Bullock came up to him.
“What is it?” Gordon said wearily, taking off his shooter’s glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Got a weird one,” Bullock said. “The powers that be want us to handle it. They seem to think it’s the sort of thing that might be right up our alley. Extreme measures and all that.”
Gordon raised a brow. Bullock looked puzzled, maybe even a little shaken. “What is it?” he asked again, more interested now.
“Apparently,” Bullock said slowly, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he believed his own words, “Someone is assaulting the scum and leaving them tied up for us to find. And they torched at least one major drug house in the last week.”
Gordon sat up straight. “New gang in town? Someone from Philadelphia or Metropolis making a move?”
“Maybe, but then why leave the mooks alive? Nobody knows what the hell is going on. That’s why we’re being asked to look into it.”
Theoretically, this wasn’t in a SWAT Squad’s purview or jurisdiction. But then, neither had been the raid on Winick’s office. That was one thin, dim thread of advantage in working in Gotham; one thing Gordon had never been called on was procedure. Paperwork after, yes. But no questions about how or why.
Gordon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, what are we supposed to do, hunt our mystery down?”
Bullock shrugged. “They never give me specifics, you know that.”
Gordon grit his teeth. “Let me guess, they told you we should ‘improvise’ and ‘keep our eyes open.’ Didn’t they?”
Bullock merely nodded.
Gordon sighed. “All right, we’ll put it on the to-do list.” He shook his head. “I really have been in this city too long.”
Bullock laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it.
*******
As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long at all.
There had been an attempted bank robbery at the Guardian Bank on Morrison street, just after sundown. But when the cops arrived, it was clear something else was going on.
Two crooks already lay unconscious and bleeding on the sidewalk, and as the SWAT team pulled up, another came flying through a window. The bank alarm shrilled, uselessly.
This was, Gordon supposed as he got out and drew his gun, because the door glass had already been smashed by the previous victims. He had to admire the style of whoever was in there, but what was going on? A falling out amongst the crew? A rival gang wanting a piece of the action? But if so, why no guns? The idea of the bank security guards actually fighting back did not occur to him. Not in Gotham.
Then, as he closed in on the door, gun at the ready....he saw Batman..
He had been shining his flashlight through the shattered front door frame in the ashen aftermath of twilight. For a moment he was chilled to the bone as he saw a humanoid bat shape. Then he realized he was looking at some idiot in a costume; a costume that was supposed to make him look like a bat.
Seriously, a bat?!?
He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse the man out for being an idiot.
But said idiot looked like he knew how to fight. Even wearing that absurd getup. A crazy, dangerous idiot. A fanatic with muscle.
Captain James Gordon wasn’t a detective by first choice, but it took no detective work at all to realize this was the man who had been stirring up the criminal hornet’s nest of late.
He leveled his weapon. “Freeze! Don’t move!”
For a moment, Batman smirked, and drew his cape in front of his face with one hand.....then he was gone.
Gordon fired three shots....too late.
Now Gordon was angry. White hot fury coursed through his veins. On top of everything else in Gotham, now he had to deal with a crazy vigilante!
He stepped carefully through the shattered door frame, maintaining situational awareness; there might still be some crooks up and about in here, though he suspected the mad vigilante would have taken care of that.
He suspected right. The lights were out (had the robbers cut the power, or the vigilante?), but it didn’t take long to find terrified customers cowering on the floor, and several more thugs battered into unconsciousness. One had even sprawled over the tellers’ counter, the defensive grill smashed.
Gordon reflected, with bitter amusement, that he and the crime bosses that ran this city now had something they agreed on.
Once he convinced them it was no joke, that was. But security camera footage should see to that. Cutting the power would not affect them, as they ran on their own separate power generator. Routine security precaution for most businesses in Gotham.
Whether they had recorded anything in the dark was another matter. Disgusted, Gordon turned back to the rest of his squad. “The emergency is over.”
“Did you see that?” Devin asked, eyes wide.
“I sure did,” Bullock agreed. He was pale.
Gordon sighed. He had said the emergency was over, but he knew things would only get worse from here.
*******
Later that night, he returned to his office to deal with yet more paperwork. He was surprised to find a plain manilla folder on his desk. Frowning in puzzlement, he opened it, anticipating either a written remonstration from Boss Thorne, or perhaps more “guidelines” on how to handle his job.
Instead there was all sorts of interesting—and incriminating!—photograps of various Council members, including Winick, and some interesting paperwork; including financial statements on how money had been strategically shifted around over the past few years….out-of-town dealings with more traditional mobs in other cities, and so forth…..
…and a note.
“Greetings, Captain. Judging by our meeting earlier, you think I’m just as much a problem as the corrupt bosses you are forced to answer to. I don’t blame you. But perhaps you will find this information useful. You cannot, of course, share it with anyone else in the GCPD; but there are several federal agents you might want to share it with, as well as the State DA, who is of sound reputation.”
Below the note was a crudely-drawn bat symbol.
Gordon sat unmoving in his chair for several moments after he had finished, eyes wide beneath his shooter’s glasses.
A fanatic, yes. But not so foolish as he had believed. And perhaps, in the short term at least, a useful fanatic.
For the first time in years, Gordon felt a spark of hope in his mind.
*******
Across town, a meeting of the criminal Consortium was being held. Boss Thorne was there, among others. The Mayor and Commissioner Breyfogle were also present.
“Clearly, we have a problem,” Breyfogle was saying. “I’ve sicced Gordon and his dogs on this costumed freak, and they eagerly accepted the job; but I dunno if they can take him down by themselves.”
“Gordon might try to capture the punk alive, to find out what he knows, too.” Thorne frowned thoughtfully. “We’re gonna have to deal with this ourselves.”
“With what?” one of the other Consortium members asked him. “It’s clear our regular soldiers are no match for this psycho. And I’d rather not ask some other city for help.”
“Agreed,” Thorne said heavily. While the Consortium did business with the more old school “families” of other cities, and street gangs of various ethnicities as well, that was not to say there was any love lost. Nor did Thorne want to owe them any favors. “But there are other kinds of help we can pay for. A specialist.”
Another Consortium member, a sad man with tired eyes, frowned. “A sniper?”
Thorne shook his head. “This nutjob ain’t the only costumed crazy on the block. Plenty of those guys are into our kind of work. We’ll see if we can’t hire one or two of them to take care of this little problem.”
“Set a freak to catch a freak?” the sad-eyed man asked.
Thorne smiled thinly. “Pretty much, yeah. Look into it. Between Gordon and whatever costumed muscle we can come up with, I’m sure we can take this “bat” down.
What none of them understood was this; when dealing with the Batman, it would be better to leave bad enough alone.
*******
To Be Continued...
