Batman and associated characters are not my intellectual property.

-September 3, 2011-

A red wash of evening light through dark clouds bathed Gotham in an insidious glow as the city's businesses shut down. Trains filled up, and homebound traffic sat and stank. Commissioner Gordon could see the whole scene out of his office window in the GCPD main headquarters. He looked out absent-mindedly, tired after a long day. He still had paperwork to do for the quarterly departmental review, and state PD were making a fuss about the batman. As usual.

A knock on the door brought him out of his blank state of mind. He swiveled away from the window and back towards his black desk, adjusting his glasses. "Come in," he called.

The door opened. It was Danny Truman, a white guy with a combover and the most babyish face Gordon had ever seen on a grown man. He came into the room awkwardly, shuffling like he was afraid he'd rip a hole in his pants if he didn't move stiffly. "May I sit down?"

Gordon resisted the urge to sigh. "Go ahead, Truman. What is it now?"

Truman sat down. "It's about your quarterly expenses. The mayor thinks you should be focusing more on catching the vigilante."

"The batman." Gordon frowned. "I've told him repeatedly that the batman is just a vigilante, and if we actually create a taskforce specifically to hunt him down, that would be giving preference to a specific criminal. We're working on it, the batman will be found, but we don't need to bust open the piggy bank just to look good to the citizens. A thug in a mask is nothing special."

"Come on, Gordon. The mayor's not going to like hearing about this."

"Well, too bad. That's my position on the matter. We've got a whole violent crimes section who are working their hardest. I'd rather they stay on the case and get the glory when we catch him."

"Okay, Gordon, you don't have to get snippy."

Gordon glared. Yeah, I do, he thought, but he didn't say it out loud. He didn't mind being the tough guy, not letting other parties who thought they knew better push him around. It was just the annoying cronies who got to him. Like Truman, who was twiddling his thumbs right in front of his desk. He got paid more to be an annoying messenger of the mayor than Gordon did to run the whole goddamn police department.

"I'm just saying. The mayor has constituents, publicity. You want him to be your ally."

Gordon took off his glasses briefly and rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Truman, I don't have time for veiled threats. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Plus, he added in his thoughts, we both know the mayor's in bed with Falcone.

Truman stood up, nodding. "Well, I see you don't want to make time for the mayor's interests. A word of advice before I leave: if you don't listen to those with power, you're gonna be gone before you know it."

You can shove your advice up your ass, Truman. "I'll keep that in mind. Good night."

"Good night." Truman left, and Gordon stared at the pile of paperwork on his desk for a moment before deciding that it could wait until tomorrow. Barb needed a father. He packed a few sheets in his work bag and left the office.

()()()

Gordon briskly crossed the skywalk over the street, looking at the sluggish cars below. Traffic would be a bitch getting home, but it was better than nothing. Gordon didn't use the subway any more.

He got to the parking garage and descended the stairs to level 3. A few desk sergeants and receptionists were leaving for the night, getting into their cars and driving down to the street. Gordon hurried to his car and unlocked the door. He drove down the parking garage levels and merged into traffic. It took him twenty minutes to drive ten blocks to his home.

He parked on the curb and headed inside. "Barbara?"

No answer. I wonder where she is. Gordon took out his phone and called her number.

Three rings later, she picked up. "Hey, Dad."

"Where are you, Barb?" Gordon set down his workbag beside his desk and moved into the kitchen to get something to eat.

"Oh, I'm at Julia's house. Sorry, I forgot to tell you we're having a sleepover."

"Oh." Gordon got out some bread and lunchmeat and started making a sandwich.

"Sorry, Dad. I forgot to ask you. Is it okay with you?"

"I guess," he answered. "Just make sure you get your homework done, all right?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Dad." He could perceive the edge of sarcasm in her voice, but he didn't really mind if she didn't do her homework. She was smart; she could probably do most of her assignment on the bus tomorrow morning.

"Just be safe, Barbara."

"Yeah, Dad. I gotta go."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye." She hung up.

Gordon sighed and pocketed his phone. Barbara was kind of a free spirit. Due to the nature of his job and the fact that his wife was gone, he couldn't maintain strict control over her. So he had relinquished most of his power over her as a parent, opting instead to be more of a friend or adviser.

He started eating his sandwich when he noticed a shadow move outside the window. He looked up. What was that? He wouldn't have been surprised if there was an idiot teen trying to break into his house even though his car was parked right out front.

Gordon stood and walked to the door, peering out through the peephole. He couldn't see anything. Weird. He felt a strange sense of unease; he quietly opened his door and looked out the glass storm door. He didn't see anyone on his porch or on the front lawn.

All his instincts told him this was some sort of setup. He found himself grateful that Barbara wasn't home. He took one last look outside before turning to grab his service weapon over at the table.

Three men in black stood behind him, pointing pistol barrels at his face. "You're coming with us."