Percy took a pull from his mug, drawing his coat a little tighter around him. Every time the damn door opened, a draft of cold wind blew into the restaurant. He might have been from New York, but he had spent almost all of his life either on the West Coast, or in the desert. He hated cold weather. He'd hated it in Metropolis and he hated it in Gotham.

He was waiting in the restaurant that Dinah, Montoya and Percy often frequented whenever they got together. Dinah had been quick to answer his call, and had readily agreed to meet up with him.

Another draft of wind blew through the restaurant and Percy looked up in time to catch the eye of Dinah as she shucked off a hefty wool cap and smiled at him. Standing up from the booth, Percy met her at the edge of the booth and embraced her.

"You scared the shit out of me," she said as she wrapped her arms tightly around him,

"Sorry about that," said Percy softly, "Didn't mean to scare you like that,"

She broke the embrace and smiled up at him, "I know that," she pat him on the chest, "Doesn't mean it didn't scare the hell out of me though," She took a step back and shook her jacket off, a dusting of snow falling free from the coat as she tossed the jacket into the corner of the booth. Following her lead, Percy sat back down in the booth.

As he sat down and Dinah perused the drink menu, he noticed that something was a little off about her. She was sitting a little stiffly. Her shoulders were wound tight, and her brow was furrowed. Not in the way she would furrow her brow when she was thinking, but when she was stressed or anxious. She was gripping the menu so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, and her foot tapped an anxious rhythm on the floor.

"Hey," said Percy, "You doing all right?"

"Huh?" Said Dinah, looking up in surprise, her eyes crossed for a moment before refocusing, "Oh, yeah-yeah I'm fine. I'm okay."

"You sure?" Percy asked again, "You just seem a little tense,"

Dinah gave him a shaky smile but nodded, "Yeah, I promise. Just-just a little work-related stress is all. I'm fine, I promise." Then, seemingly realizing something, she reached out and wrapped her hand around his,

"The more important question is how you're doing. I don't know if you're able to talk about what happened, but you know I'm willing to listen if you need me to."

Percy smiled, "I appreciate that, really, but I'm okay. I promise."

"Are you sure?" Asked Dinah,

"I promise," said Percy, "It was bad, yeah, but it was no worse than some of the other situations I've been in."

"If you're sure," said Dinah and retracted her hand from his. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. However, unlike when they normally spent time together, the silence was not comfortable. It was tense, and frigid. Like a heavy weight was sitting over their table.

"Percy," said Dinah softly, "Can-can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," said Percy easily,

"Why…why become a cop? Surely with what you can do-I mean after everything you've done, you'd want to do something a little more peaceful or-or something."

Percy's own brow furrowed in response.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" She bit her lip and fiddled with her hands, "I mean I know you've told me about how things ended in the military…and I know things didn't end well, but after everything that's happened, why continue to live a dangerous life? You're not an inherently violent man, you seem to actually crave peace…so why choose a profession where you continue to use and use violence?"

Percy was a little thrown off by the question,

"Haven't we had this conversation before?"

"I psychoanalyzed you," corrected Dinah, "That's different. I want to hear it from you, in your own words…if that's okay I mean!" She hastily added,

"I don't really know," he conceded, "I guess…ever since I was a kid there's always been this…this sense of duty I guess? Duty to country and to my countrymen has always been really important to me and my family," He leaned back in his seat, pulling his mug a little closer and taking a deeper pull,

"That's part of the reason I went into the service in the first place, you know? Military service is something of a tradition in my family, and I never really saw a place for myself in the world outside of the military. When I was discharged, I didn't really know what else I wanted to do,"

"But you still had this overwhelming sense of duty," concluded Dinah,

"Yeah," shrugged Percy, "And I guess I've always just felt really strongly about justice and what's right and wrong? I don't know, it's not something I can really quantify. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," chuckled Dinah, "But it doesn't really matter if it makes sense to me, as long as it makes sense to you."

"I mean, that's not all," shrugged Percy, "I like the structure it provides me. Which is kind of ironic given the, you know, everything about me,"

Dinah chuckled, she had become privy to Percy disinterest in most authority figures, ironic given his continuous employment.

"I know, I know," laughed Percy, "But I'm serious. I like it. I don't have to think too much about like normal people things with normal jobs. Every day I know to some extent what I'll be doing. I know who I answer to and who I don't. I know that there's going to be stability, which is comforting. I also like feeling like I'm making a positive impact on the world. Opinions on the War on Drugs aside, I've helped put away a lot of dangerous and violent people over the last couple of years. That makes me feel good. It's nice to be able to see a conviction and think to myself, 'yeah, I helped put them away. I made an impact on keeping people safe.' It helps me sleep a little better at night, you know?"

"That makes sense," conceded Dinah, "But even after the stuff that happened at the Asylum? You don't worry about your safety? You don't worry about-about something happening?"

"Of course I have," said Percy, "Kind of impossible not to given everything that has happened. But I guess at this point, I've just gotten over the fear part of it? Like it's not that I'm not afraid of death or anything, but I guess I've just become desensitized to it. Besides, it's not like I actively seek out dangerous situations, but I'm not going to back down from it when shit decides to go down." Percy shrugged and wrapped a hand more tightly around the handle of his mug,

"Besides…it's a dangerous gig but someone has to do it. And if someone has to do it, then I figure that it should at least be someone who can carry the burden. If that means it's me…then I suppose I'm okay with that."

Dinah didn't have anything to say to his final comment, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. As they sat there, nursing their drinks in silence, Percy was still overcome with the thought that there was something going on with his friend.

He just didn't know what.

BREAK

The following morning, Percy and Montoya walked into the recently re-built evidence labs. The new building was nowhere near as complex and well-designed as the previous building, but it had only been re-built in a matter of months so Percy supposed he had no room to complain. As long there was a place to store and analyze evidence, he was content.

They were greeted by the recently installed new head of the department, Alexandria Moore. A short, squat, Latin woman of around forty years, she had dark brown eyes and equally brown hair that was pulled up into a tight and professional bun on the back of her head.

"Sorry to start your day off on a bad note," said Moore, "But we don't have much for you from that bullet you pulled out of the engine block."

"You know what it's made of at least?" Asked Percy, "The thing should have pancaked the second it impacted the engine block,"

"I do know that," said Moore, "But honestly, it just raises more questions than it answers. The bullet is made of tungsten."

"Tungsten?" Said Montoya, confused, "How the hell did they manage that?"

"No idea," shrugged Moore, "And it sure has hell has been confusing the hell out of us. Though nothing has been more confusing than those damn engravings." She led them over to a large display with the bullet held up between a pair of connecting rods,

"We thought at first that they were an identifying mark, but after closer inspection we started thinking otherwise."

"What do you mean?" Asked Percy, "Wouldn't that screw with the rifling?"

"That's what we thought," said Moore, "But the more we looked at it, the more that we realized that they weren't decorative, the engravings are too deep and they weren't carved in with just anything." She pointed to a screen attached to the display where a three-dimensional image of the bullet was blown up,

"There are plasma burns along the corners of the engravings, meaning that whoever made them used a very high-quality laser of some kind. We can't think of any logistical reason for how or why someone would do that. Like you said Detective, doing that to the bullet should have ruined its ability to fly but clearly that isn't the case."

"Do you have any idea what it was fired out of?" Asked Montoya,

"Not exactly," sighed Moore, "Whatever fired it was chambered for 7.62 but that's about all we know. Find the gun and we'll be able to make a positive match, but given the nature of the bullet we won't have much of anything for you in the way of actually tracking it down."

"All right," said Montoya in exasperation, "How about the security footage from the traffic cams?"

"A whole lot of nothing there too," said Moore directing them away from the bullet and towards another set of computer monitors. She input a number of commands on the keyboard and the nearest terminal came to life as it began to play footage from the intersection. Immediately however, Percy noticed a problem, the direction was all wrong, they weren't looking at the camera footage facing Winston's car but the other side of the intersection.

His fears were soon born out as the footage began to play, they couldn't see anything for a moment and then the black truck raced under the camera and smashed into the apartment building.

"That's it?" Asked Montoya, "What about the other camera?"

"It was broken," said Moore in agitation, though her ire was clearly not directed at the detectives, "Been that way for months apparently and nobody has bothered to petition the city to get it fixed."

"Figures," muttered Percy, as he turned to Montoya, "We're dealing with a pro, aren't we?"

"I was just thinking the same thing," said Montoya, "Either that, or someone got very, very lucky."

"Over-under on anyone admitting that they saw anything?" Asked Percy,

"I told you Metro," said Montoya, "I don't take suckers bets,"

Her phone rang and Montoya fished it out of her pocket,

"Hey Jim, we're just finishing up at the labs before-wait what?" Montoya's brow furrowed in consternation as she listened intently to whatever Gordon was saying,

"All right, we'll head over immediately," said Montoya before ending the call and shoving the phone in her pocket, "Antonio Pelasaro was just found dead in his house out in the 'burbs."

"I'm guessing it's related?" said Percy, as he followed Montoya out of the lab, waving goodbye to Moore on their way out,

"Pelasaro is a Capo for Falcone," said Montoya, "We better hurry, this is going to turn into a zoo."

BREAK

Montoya was right, the scene was a zoo. Antonio Pelasaro lived outside the outskirts of the city, in a quiet neighborhood surrounded by trees and rolling hills. There was quite gathering outside the entrance to the gated community. As Percy followed Montoya through the gate, he recognized a couple of familiar faces. Some of the men gathered outside the gate were part of the group of guys that had tried to jump him a few months previously.

The home itself was the very definition of ostentatious. It was almost as though the architect had taken inspiration from the White House. It was a beautiful Victorian home, with large turrets and pillars presenting the entrance to the mansion.

The crime techs were already on the scene as Percy and Montoya got out of their cars. Percy could see a young Hispanic woman woman speaking with a uniformed officer who was taking her statement. She was clutching tightly at the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and was shaking. whether from the cold or from something was difficult to discern.

"Detectives," called out the familiar voice of Pierce as he jogged over to them,

"What's going on?" Demanded Montoya,

"Cleaning lady found the body this morning," said Pierce, gesturing to the woman in the blanket, "Clean through and through, blew a hole the size of a damn grapefruit through the bastard's skull."

"Show us," said Percy as he and Montoya began putting their booties, gloves, and face-shields on. Pierce led them into the lavish home. The inside was every bit as over-the-top as the outside. Large, ornate staircases lined with elegantly carved marble handrails. A beautiful gold and silver chandelier lined he ceiling, and as Percy gazed around, he could make out several very fine and likely expensive displays of fine art.

"And they say crime doesn't pay," Percy whistled,

"More money in here than I'll probably see in my entire life," agreed Montoya,

"We chose the wrong job, detectives," said Pierce, "C'mon this way."

Pierce led the way through the home and into a very large and expansive kitchen. Percy could see the feet of what had to be Pelasaro poking around the corner of the island, and they had to step carefully as blood had pooled so thoroughly that there was a veritable lake of the life essence spilled along the floor. As they walked, Percy could small paw-prints in the blood. Looking around, he could see in an adjoining room that a large pit-bull was laying in the sitting room, a collar around its neck and a leash held firmly in the grip of a uniformed officer.

Pelasaro was laying facedown on the ground, still dressed only in his sleep robe. A cup of coffee had fallen to the floor and smashed to the ground beside him. Percy looked at the position of the body, and tried his best to judge where he had fallen. Seeing the mess that had become the man's face, Percy had a sinking feeling that he knew precisely what he was dealing with.

"Looking for this?" Said a crime tech walking up to him, and held out a plastic evidence bag for him.

"Yeah, thanks," said Percy, grabbing the bag from the tech. Sure enough, within the bag was another tungsten round.

"Fuck,"

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Monty," sighed Percy has he handed the bag back towards the tech.

"What the hell is going on?" Asked Montoya,

"Hired gun?" Suggested Percy, "One of the families hired a hitman to off members of the family? Or important people to the family?"

"That makes sense, but look around and tell me how this guy," Montoya gestured down at Pelasaro, "Ends up like this without a single window getting blown to all hell or without anyone hearing anything."

"I don't suppose we got lucky and this guy has a security system that proves that someone was in the house?" Asked Percy,

"No dice detective," said a crime tech as they walked through the kitchen, their arms laden with all manner of electronic equipment, "Already went through the security system. No sign of anyone coming in or out beside the victim in the last forty-eight hours. But," he jiggled the equipment in his arms, "We'll go through the video feeds and surveillance data regardless and see if we can find anything for you."

"Thanks," said Percy absently, scratching behind his ear in agitation, "Okay…" he said slowly, looking around the kitchen. There were no signs of any disturbance beyond the dead body in the room. He had a feeling they were dealing with a sharpshooter of some kind, but how the hell were they able to fire through windows and solid surfaces without punching a damn hole through whatever it hit?

His eyes roamed around the room until they landed on the glass door leading out onto a large porch and into a spacious backyard. His brow furrowed in confusion as he noticed a soft breeze blowing through the room, and as he looked more closely at the door, he saw that it was still slightly ajar. Montoya noticed it at the same time as Percy,

"Officer," Montoya called out to the uniform officer holding the leash of the dog, "Why's that door open?" She pointed at the glass door, drawing the attention of the officer and the others in the room.

"It was like that when we got here," said the officer defensively,

"Cleaning lady says that he takes the dog out every morning to shit in the yard," said another officer who had walked into the room, Percy recognized him as the one who had been interviewing the cleaning lady.

Percy and Montoya shared a look as they walked over to it. There was about an inch-wide gap in the door. Leaving just enough space for Percy to stick his finger through.

Or for a bullet to fly through.

"That's insane, Metro," said Montoya, seemingly reading his mind.

"I agree, but I'm not seeing much else here to go on." Said Percy,

"Could have come in through the door, done the job, and left through the same door."

"You and I both know that's bullshit," said Percy, "Whoever we're dealing is a pro, they knew enough to know where and when to shoot Winston so that the cameras on the street didn't see anything, and you saw how many cameras are around the place, you think he would have risked exposure like that? Plus," Percy jerked his head in the direction of the body,

"Anything short of a fucking smoothbore isn't doing something like that to a guy. Unless he came in, held up a fucking 30.06 to the back of his head, and blew his fucking brains to nothing but there's no way any hitman in their right mind would pull something that ballsy."

"Then you're seriously suggesting that someone managed to thin the needle and shoot through that? You get knocked on the head harder than we thought on the island?" Said Montoya,

"Then what do you think we're dealing with?" Asked Percy, crossing his arms over his chest, "Meta?"

"Only thing that makes sense to me," shrugged Montoya, "Some kind of phasing power or something that lets them shift through solid matter? I don't know but it wouldn't be the weirdest thing in the world."

That wasn't wrong necessarily, but Percy couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't dealing with a meta-human. He couldn't articulate why; it was more of just a gut-instinct. But Percy's gut was rarely wrong, and he felt rather confident that his instincts were right about this one. What that meant? He didn't know, but he could already feel a headache begin to throb in his temples as his thoughts raced.

"We should reconvene with Gordon," said Montoya as she stepped away from the body. "Two bodies in as many days? This guy is hunting and it's only a matter of time before he makes his next hit. We need to figure out who we're looking at as potential targets and get details set-up."

Percy refrained from saying that he thought that would be an exercise in futility given everything they had seen thus far.

"Agreed," he said, shooting one last glance at the window and the body.

Montoya was right, this was only the beginning.

BREAK

It was days like today that Percy regretted giving up smoking. Watching as Gordon took a long puff on his pipe made Percy long for a nice, long drag of his own.

"Got this from Bullock earlier this morning," said Gordon, placing a pair of files on his desk that Percy and Montoya reached out and snagged, "It's everything that we have so far on Falcone,"

"Surprised you have this much," Percy mused, "The Feds can't be happy that you're stepping into their turf. Thought they usually handled organized crime cases,"

"In Gotham?" Snorted Gordon, "The Feds haven't tried anything here in years. Not enough resources or the manpower necessary to fix this godforsaken town."

Percy grunted in amusement as his eyes scanned through the contents of the paper. It was a shockingly in-depth analysis and report on the Falcone crime family. There were detailed biographies on capos, lieutenants, wise-guys, known associates, and all of the known business and dealings of the family. Everything from gambling, to faux shell corporations and tax fraud and evasion.

"How the hell did you get all of this, Jim?" Said Montoya, "This is a goldmine,"

"Better question," said Percy, "How come Dent has filed for RICO yet?"

RICO, or the Racketeer Influence and Corrupt Organizations Act was the greatest weapon in the arsenal of law enforcement for tackling organized crime. It made it possible for the government to try not just the lowest drug dealers but the bosses of organized families as a single organization and entity. Percy remembered hearing stories about the feds using the statute to take down the mob in New York.

"We have everything on the small fries," said Gordon gruffly, "But we don't have anything on Falcone himself. We could put most of his boys away but if we can't cut off the head of the snake then there isn't a point."

It was a fair enough point in Percy's opinion. Better to try and get the entire organization in one fell swoop than to just get the wise guys and maybe a couple of capos. Nothing would really change at that point.

"Sounds like a lesson learned the hard way," Percy noted, and Gordon nodded grimly,

"Happened with Christian's father, Salvador. Got nearly the entire damn family on RICO charges but we never had enough on him. Bastard skated on all of the charges,"

A flash of something unrecognizable flashed through his eyes,

"But that's a dangerous life, and you can only ruffle so many feathers before somebody decides to take you off the board. A week after his acquittal, Falcone was gunned down getting into his car by some boys from the Maroni family."

Gordon sighed and tapped out his pipe into the ash tray.

"But don't worry about that for the time being. Your immediate attention needs to be focused on figuring out who the hell this bastard is going to be gunning down next. Mobsters or not, we don't tolerate this kind of vigilantism in this town."

Percy arched an eyebrow at the comment, but Gordon's blazing glare kept Percy from otherwise making a comment.

With their dismissal given, Percy and Montoya strode from the office,

"Looks like this is going to be a long night," grumbled Montoya as the got into the elevator,

"When isn't it a long one," yawned Percy,

"Head to Marty's and get started on this over a pint?" Asked Montoya, but Percy shook his head,

"I'm going to head to the impound lot. I want another look at the car."

Montoya shot him a quizzical look, but shrugged,

"Suits you," she said, as the elevator dinged twice and they stepped out into the lobby, "When you don't find anything feel free to join me at the bar. I got a feeling I'll be there until closing."

"Will do," said Percy, as they left in separate directions. The impound lot was, thankfully, attached to the same complex as the rest of police one and Percy wouldn't be going very far.

Percy spent a fruitless three hours investigating the truck. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find anything to indicate where or how someone could have gotten to Winston. The crime techs hadn't found anything in the back seat to indicate that someone had been back there. No footprints, no clothing fibers, dirt, blood that belonged to someone other than Winston, nothing.

Percy was beginning to reach his wits end. The more he thought about the facts, the more he was beginning to believe Montoya that maybe they were dealing with a meta of some kind. But that still didn't sit right with him. If they were dealing with a meta, who in their right mind would use a damned rifle from the inside of the car, or even use a weapon whatsoever. If someone had the ability to blow a man's brains to pieces without leaving a shred of evidence behind, why use a gun at all. Moreover, why go through the effort of constructing specialized, engraved bullets made of tungsten of all things.

It just didn't add up.

After another hour of fruitless searching and thinking, Percy decided that he needed to go about things differently. He needed to take a step back from the investigation of the scenes, and begin looking at the why. He had a rough idea, as did Montoya, why these men in particular were being targeted. They were all known associates of the Falcone crime family. Winston had been their man in the department. Pelasaro had been a capo. Then there were the rumors that the Falcone brothers were beginning to split, but that didn't necessarily mean that it was someone from inside the family who had hired the hitman.

If Percy could figure out who hired the hitman, then they could begin working backwards and figure out who the next potential target would be. Moreover, if they knew more about what they might be dealing with, then they would probably be able to prepare for it.

His decision set, Percy left the impound lot. He needed to go meet with an informant.

It was time to head to a strip club.