The officers who canvassed the area around the textile factory came back empty-handed. No surprise there. Gotham's residents had a finely tuned survival instinct when it came to not seeing things that might get them killed. Only one homeless man claimed he had seen a few trucks leaving the factory and heading north, but he could not remember any license plate numbers. Or maybe he could, and just was not stupid enough to say.
Marco sat at his desk early that morning, a blank sheet of paper in front of him covered in scribbled lines and circles that were supposed to represent something. But after ten minutes of staring, he gave up.
"Hey, Captain."
Marco looked up as Otis opened the door and walked in. He glanced at the mess of lines on Marco's desk and hesitated.
"Uh... sir, are you studying modern art lately?"
Marco crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the trash. "No. Forget it. You finished setting up?"
"Yeah. Took two days off and got the dorm room all sorted." Otis smiled. "I have never lived in a place this nice before."
"It is a small room. Do not buy too much stuff." Marco shrugged. "Once we finish renovating the whole dormitory building, I will get you moved into something bigger."
"This is already more than enough." Otis' smile faded slightly. "I, uh... I heard from Edward that those people are coming back?"
"Yeah. Domestic abuse plus pedophilia. Fuck, I really have turned into a family crisis response unit." Marco rolled his eyes and stood up. "Come on. Let us go see if you and Ed can work together to track down these lunatics before they make their move."
The two of them left the office, exchanging greetings with the desk officer on the way out. That was when Marco nearly walked straight into an unexpected visitor he had not seen in a long time.
A limping figure leaning on a black umbrella.
"Marco!"
Cobblepot spread his arms wide. He hobbled forward.
"It has been a long time."
"Yeah. It has." Marco walked forward, and the two men exchanged a brief, stiff hug that neither of them seemed particularly comfortable with. "You look like you have put on some weight."
"That is because I am stuffed full of worries." Cobblepot gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "I wanted to ask for your help, but I heard you have been swamped lately."
"That is true. A lot has been going on." Marco nodded slowly, studying Cobblepot's face. "So, are you here to see me today?"
"No, no. I am here to visit Chief McGinnis." Cobblepot shook his head. "But once I finish my official business, I will buy you a drink. We should catch up properly."
"Sure. Sounds good."
Before either of them could say anything else, Bob came rushing through the front doors.
"I am not late, am I?" He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Ah, whatever. Attendance gets signed by me in the end anyway." He glanced at Marco. "Come with me for a minute."
He headed straight for the stairs, then stopped after two steps.
"Oh. Mr. Cobblepot, you come along too."
Marco gestured for Otis to head to the forensics lab without him, then followed Bob and Cobblepot up the stairs.
Bob unlocked his office and opened the door. He tossed his bag onto the worn leather couch against the wall, then pulled a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and placed it between his lips. Finally, he dropped into his chair and let out a sigh.
"Make yourselves comfortable."
Marco walked over and opened the window, letting in a draft of cold air. Cobblepot eagerly pulled out a lighter and moved to light Bob's cigarette, but Bob waved him off.
"Hold on a moment. I need to talk to Marco first."
He looked at Marco and made a small gesture with his hand.
"I have to head over to City Hall later. There is a gentleman coming by to see me. I need you to take care of him in my place. He will bring some samples. Take a look at them. If you like what you see, keep them. If not, have him take them back and exchange them. It is entirely your call."
"No problem. Who is it?"
"You will like him." Bob smiled faintly. "Go on. I need to talk to Mr. Cobblepot about something."
Marco nodded and left, closing the door behind him. He stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds from inside the office, then walked away toward the stairs.
Inside the office, Bob finally picked up his lighter and lit the cigarette dangling from his lips. He took a long drag, exhaled slowly, and leaned back in his chair.
"All right, Mr. Cobblepot. You said yesterday you wanted to talk to me. What is on your mind?"
"Well." Cobblepot's face lit up. "I came to congratulate you. I heard the East End Precinct is about to be elevated to the same status as headquarters..."
Bob's expression did not change. He looked up from the stack of documents on his desk.
"Mr. Cobblepot, that is unconfirmed information that has not been approved by the city government. You should not be spreading rumors like that."
"Ah! Yes, you are right." Cobblepot gave an awkward laugh. "I was careless. But I firmly believe that with your abilities and personal charisma, that day will not be far off."
"I will take that as a good omen." Bob flicked ash into the tray on his desk. "So? Showing up empty-handed to offer congratulations is not exactly polite."
"Of course not."
Cobblepot looked relieved as he pulled a check from his pocket and handed it over. "This is just a small token. Nothing worth mentioning. Also... I was hoping to ask about the East End's future business planning."
Bob picked up the check, glanced at it, and set it back down on the desk without touching it again.
"Fifty thousand. Quite a small token."
He blew a smoke ring and looked at Cobblepot.
"So, Mr. Cobblepot. Where is your proposal?"
"Pro... proposal?" Cobblepot looked confused. "I do not..."
"You should understand this." Bob leaned forward slightly. "The police do not mind you people making money, as long as you do not turn the East End into a complete disaster zone. You want to monopolize business there? Then how exactly do you plan to do it? What is your strategy? What is your implementation timeline?"
He patted a thick stack of documents on his desk.
"Take a look. Maroni, Thorne, the Triads, Casamento, the Bertinellis. Whether they intend to operate directly in the East End or simply capitalize on the opportunities there, every one of them has submitted a detailed proposal. The East End will open for public bidding in a few days. So… what about you?"
Public bidding.
Cobblepot sat there in silence. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out.
Business. Sure, that was the polite way to describe it. In reality, this was about dividing up interests among gangs colluding with the police.
And now the police were hosting public bidding for criminals.
What the fuck?
After a moment, Cobblepot finally managed to steady himself.
"All right. I will deliver my proposal as soon as possible."
"Good." Bob nodded, seemingly satisfied. "But do you know what is most important?"
Cobblepot ventured, "Is it profit?"
"Profit?" Bob laughed at that. "Back when Falcone was around, he paid about two million dollars a year to headquarters. Add in payments to the other precincts, and the total came to roughly three million annually."
He took another drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray.
"And Marco alone has brought nearly fifteen million in sponsorships to the East End Precinct in less than six months. Profit is not that important to the police anymore, Mr. Cobblepot. What I want is a peaceful, stable environment."
Cobblepot's smile became slightly fixed. "You are right. From the bottom of my heart, Gotham is my home. I truly love this place and want it to become better."
"That is wonderful to hear." Bob nodded thoughtfully. "Go prepare your proposal, Mr. Cobblepot."
He paused, then asked, "By the way, I hear you are friends with Marco?"
"Yes, we are friends." Cobblepot replied enthusiastically. "We help each other out often."
"It is good to have friends." Bob pulled out another cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. "You know, some time ago, something happened to the previous police commissioner of Gotham. Marco feels very guilty about it. To be honest, many people did not like Barnes. But everyone believed he should have been removed from his position through political means, not through violence. I do not know where things went wrong."
"Uh... well... I suppose that was Falcone being completely unhinged." Cobblepot slid down slightly in his chair. "You have a very good relationship with your subordinates."
Bob lit the cigarette and exhaled smoke slowly.
"Our relationship is more than one of superior and subordinate. I think of him as a nephew. There is very little he keeps from me. Barnes, for instance. Or Falcone's vault."
Cobblepot's face gradually stiffened.
Bob continued as if he had not noticed. "There are many matters I entrust to him entirely. Including the gentleman he is about to receive. A man with substantial ties to military institutions and major weapons manufacturers around the world." He leaned back in his chair. "You see, a group of cultists and terrorists has recently infiltrated Gotham. To protect this city, I intend to spare no expense equipping my officers properly. A single standard tactical loadout can cost anywhere from four to five hundred thousand dollars."
Cobblepot's heart hammered in his chest. "You mean... those terrorists have gone into hiding?"
"Yes." Bob nodded. "We are short on manpower. We cannot conduct a proper search."
Cobblepot sprang to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over his chair.
"I am willing to help. I will have my people find them. It is all for this city. I can help. I love Gotham too!"
Bob looked at him for a long moment. Then he smiled, but it was not a warm smile.
"Yes, Mr. Cobblepot. Marco has told me you are a smart man. I like smart people. And I also think you should not be aiming so low."