Double-Cross
Examination (A Year One Story) Featuring Harvey Bullock.
I
don't own any characters; I just pay homage to those who do!
With particular acknowledgement to the work of Frank Miller.
Chapter One : "Strikeout Harv."
June 6th am
Patrolman Harvey Bullock, alternatively known to the cops of Gotham City Central Police Department as "Strikeout Harv," on account of the fact that he had taken the Sergeants' Exam three times and failed, casually glanced at the thick manila envelope of results that protruded from his mail slot.
He was aware that his surrounding colleagues were trying and failing badly to look busy as they waited for him to view the results of his fourth attempt. He could sense rather than see the knowing looks passing between his colleagues who fully expected that "Old Harv had flunked again."
Ignoring the curious eyes that were on him, Harvey manoeuvred his portly frame through the squad room to his locker without even so much as a second glance. "Let em Sweat." He thought to himself. Besides he already knew what the results were anyway.
He had passed with flying colours.
Permitting himself a smug grin Harvey opened his locker and began the ritual of exchanging his grubby clothes for the smartly pressed double extra, large patrolman's uniform that hung within. He allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction, he, Harvey "Strikeout" Bullock had finally passed! And it wasn't as a result of hours of diligent study either. Oh no! He had kept to the same routine of poker, movies, and drinking of which the last three times had brought only failure. Nor was his certainty the result of some new gift of clairvoyance.
Bullock knew that he had passed the exam because he had cheated.
But as he had told himself at least a zillion times lately, he had his reasons. Not that Bullock for a moment would ever consider this an excuse. Everybody has reasons, Harvey told himself even some of the nuts in Arkham! Although in the case of those particular looney tunes not even the asylum's best shrinks could fathom out exactly what those reasons were, but they were convinced nevertheless that reason had to have a hand it somewhere, and Harvey Bullock had no time for guilt. This was just the way it had to be, maybe in fancy shiny towns like Metropolis good was good and bad was bad, but this was gritty Gotham grim, down, and dirty, and things got done in Gotham the Gotham way.
On the one end of the spectrum you had half the plain clothes on the take, in the pockets of people like the Falcones, Gothams most prominent representatives of Cosa Nostra. On the other end you had the Lieutenant Gordon's and Harvey Dent's of the world naively trying to set it to rights.
There were only two things you could do in the GCPD as far as Harvey Bullock was concerned, you could either, go with the flow and swim even if you didn't like where it was taking you, or you could try and swim against the tide and if you were lucky it would take you with it anyway, if you were unlucky you would drown. That's just the way it was.
And the current newsflash on Lieutenant Gordon was that he was definitely in the drowning category. Word round the campfire was that last month Detective Flass and his cronies had worked Gordon over good, just enough to keep him out of hospital. Stranger still was the rumour that Gordon had somehow gotten even with Flass, took him out one on one returning the favour. Flass had said something lame about being jumped by a dozen guys, but no one really believed Flass, he was a lousy liar.
But whatever the truth of the matter Lieutenant James Gordon and District Attorney Harvey Dent were do-gooders in Bullocks book, notthat there was anything wrong with that in itself, but his survival instinct told him to steer clear of outcasts. True he didn't like the way things were, but he kept that to himself. He played the game, but he played it his way, in order to do that you sometimes had to get a little creative. Some would say crooked, but people who held that opinion in Harvey's experience, were often people who had never worked the streets, so as far as Bullock was concerned their point was moot.
But by Gotham standards it could be said that Harvey Bullock was as clean a cop as you could find. Contrary to popular rumour he wasn't on the take, and was confident that if ever he were ever to come under the scrutiny of the dreaded internal affairs dept, he would be completely exonerated. They only had to look at the sorry state of his bank account to see that he couldn't possibly be scamming. However the rumour served its purpose, it made him "one of the boys," and kept the likes of Flass and his cronies off his back. So Harvey saw no reason to discourage it.
If anything he probably made it worse on account of his lifestyle and his debts. In the eyes of Internal Affairs, debt was viewed as motive. Harvey's debts were big, and sergeants earned $200 more per check than patrolmen, and Harvey could certainly use the money. He owed on his car, he owed on his credit cards, he was barely able to make the rent, but worst of all he owed a Russian immigrant hooligan named Vasily Kosov $1,500 for a bad bet on a fight.
Kosov was rapidly emerging as a key player in the Odessa Mob, a Russian Mafia organisation that sprung up from the midtown Eastern European settlement known to all Gothamites as Little Odessa. For the moment Harvey had breathing space but he knew well that where Kosov was concerned everything came with a price.
Two Months ago.
When you lose a lot of money to someone like Vasily Kosov it's just a matter of time before you get a visit from his friends, his big tough friends come "a- calling" for the first down payment.
In fact Harvey had expected the call to come a lot sooner. And when it did come it was rather unexpected. Amazingly Kosov had come to Harvey in person shortly after his third try at the exam. There was a diner near Robinson Park on the Upper East Side, where Harvey and his partner always stopped for Coffee and Doughnuts midway through their shift. It was Harvey's turn to buy, so Wilson had waited in the black and white, whilst Bullock went to get their usual.
It was whilst Harvey was waiting for his order that Kosov walked coolly into the diner placing himself behind Harvey's left ear and whispered in his Russian accent:
"Two choices: have your toes blowtorched and an anonymous call to Internal Affairs Unit or meet me on Pier 8 Dixon Docks, midnight tonight."
The Internal Affairs Harvey could handle, crispy toes on the other hand was another matter.
"I'll check my diary," he said as coolly as he could muster, but Kosov was already out the door.
"Did you see that?" Wilson asked when Harvey returned to the car.
"See what?" Asked Harvey as he nonchalantly stirred the six sugars in his coffee.
"Vasily Kosov just walked in behind you!"
"Well," said Harvey knowing Wilson couldn't have seen what went on inside from his angle behind the driver seat, "I didn't notice, guess he must've seen my uniform and ran!"
"He did come out rather quick!" Agreed Wilson helping himself to a jello and cream. "Do I look like I'm putting on weight to you?"
Bullock gave Wilson his most withering look, "Shut up and eat your doughnut!"
"Oh!" Said Wilson absentmindedly, "we got a call from dispatch."
"So what are we doing sitting here? Let's go!"
"It's okay," replied Wilson "it's another one of those Bat things!"
Well that was different, Harvey thought. For the past month or so some nut in a Halloween costume had been running round leaving lowlifes battered, bruised, and tied to roofs, lampposts, and railings, some had even been found in dumpsters. All gift-wrapped for the GCPD with a trademark calling card bearing a bat shaped logo.
There was no hurry whoever they were, and
whatever they had done they weren't going anywhere for now, so Harvey
settled back with Wilson to try and enjoy his doughnuts, without
thinking too much about blowtorches.
Harvey had been at the pier
ten minutes early. At 12:30, Vasily appeared with two tall
thugs.
"My cousin Gregor works in city printing office, where Sergeants' exam is printed," Kosov said, "we get you copy, you pass next time. I pay your debts."
"What do you want in return?"
"Your badge, gun, and uniform on Saturday June 12th."
Harvey's eyes bulged. "The King's parade!"
"Good memory Officer Bullock."
The exiled King Khanaquin of Qurac was coming to Gotham City along with a museum exhibition of his fabulous wealth, and many feared an assassination attempt. There was to be a parade in his honour to which heavy security had been detailed. Reluctantly Harvey found himself agreeing. The day before the parade, Kosov told Harvey he was to leave his police gear in an unlocked car at the Moench Row end of Commerce Street, or someone would tell the department about his cheating.
"Well it seems I got no choice," Harvey shrugged, "If there's nothing further gentlemen I've had a busy day."
Kosov waved him off dismissively, and Harvey returned slowly and deliberately to his car. Why would a small time hood from Little Odessa want an exiled king from a Middle Eastern country dead? Harvey had no idea. But deep down he knew that when it was all over Kosov would see him as a loose end.
The murder weapon would be found and traced back to him, there was no way that anyone in the department would ever believe he had accidentally left his equipment untended in an unlocked car. He would be suspended pending a full enquiry; Internal Affairs would be all over him like a rash, and with his gun at the scene of the crime not to mention his uniform and badge, he was heading for a fall, so what use would a sergeant's exam be to him then?
The only thing Harvey had going for him now was time. The hit was a couple of months away; in the meantime he would consider the debt paid. That meant he could hang out with the guys after hours without having to watch his wallet, maybe play a little poker at chutes, or hell even stay in every now and again and rent some Clint Eastwood movies. Bottom line, he was going to live a little, and maybe, just maybe he could come up with a plan and try and turn this whole thing around.
