5. City of Evil

Two days later, Dora went to One Police Plaza to make her official statement—Red Hood was that big of a deal, there was a task force dedicated to taking him down working out of the GCPD's central headquarters in Old Gotham. Dora arrived at the giant building only to find the entrance roped off by yellow tape. There was a crime scene right on the front steps. Cameras flashed and people chattered in the large crowd that had gathered as close as they could get. At the fringe of the scene, news reporters several channels discussed the event in front of cameramen. The crowd was so dense, Dora couldn't see what the fuss was about.

"Hey, you!" Bullock stomped up to her from a food truck he had been standing by, tossing aside his half-eaten gyro.

"What?" she asked.

Bullock snarled. "What do you mean 'what?' Your hero dropped off a little present for the GCPD."

"What's going on? Why the crowd?"

"As if you don't know," Bullock spat impatiently.

Bullock was too bitter to tell her, but after he escorted her inside the GCPD building—roughly by the arm—Montoya took over and shooed Bullock away. He snorted and stomped away, muttering under his breath. Although Dora wasn't fond of either of them, she preferred Montoya over Bullock. She was still wary not to be fooled by their good cop/bad cop routine. At least Montoya believed Dora hadn't deliberately hired or requested Red Hood kill the men harassing her—she hoped.

While recording her statement and filling out a stack of paperwork with some mousy intern from the DA's office, Dora learned from Montoya that Red Hood wasn't keeping every head he took as a personal trophy.

Regarding the incident she had walked in on when she arrived at the GCPD, Montoya told her—over her morning coffee—that it appeared Red Hood had dropped off the head of a corrupt businessman named Adam Hunt on the GCPD's doorstep in order to send a message. This Adam Hunt had allegedly—and Montoya emphasized the word allegedly—laundered money for many of Gotham's criminal organizations. He had been on the GCPD's watch list for years, but they could never gather enough evidence for a solid conviction, let alone enough to charge him with any legitimate crime. When the DA intern left, Montoya offered her theory that Hunt's lawyers were just too damn good and revealed that she suspected the ADA and a few judges were in Black Mask's pocket.

"I guess Red Hood doesn't care about the burden of proof," Montoya told Dora while they filled out yet more paperwork in the bustling bullpen. Uniform cops, detectives, and jail guards were scrambling around the office, shouting at perps, into their phones, radios, and each other. "This Red Hood guy considers himself judge, jury, and executioner. I'm not sure if he's deranged or just sick of waiting for justice to be done. If the latter's the case, I can't blame him cuz I kinda get it. Pero no le dices a Bullock que yo te dije eso." But don't tell Bullock I told you that.

Dora didn't promise anything, but she and Montoya shared a lingering look that made Dora think Montoya was as frustrated with the corruption and ineffectiveness of Gotham's law enforcement as she was. After filling out all the paperwork, the detectives set Dora loose.

She wouldn't hear from them for several weeks.

Dora assumed they finally figured out she had no connection to Red Hood, because he was literally all over Gotham, literally painting the city red and watching it burn.

Day and night, everything Dora heard and read on the news was about either Red Hood, Batman, or Black Mask—or any combination of them. It was a veritable free-for-all, each one pitted relentlessly against the other two. Sometimes, new players like Nightwing, Deathstroke, or Mr. Freeze were thrown in their nightly brawls. However, it was plain to see that who everyone feared most was Red Hood. As the newcomer, he was the most unpredictable and therefore the most dangerous. Dozens of arsons were blamed on him. In some cases, vehicles and whole buildings were blown up with explosives. Gotham's citizens were afraid to leave their homes for fear that any public place they visited or transportation they used might be rigged with one of Red Hood's bombs. The city was being terrorized and demolished, one building at a time, by an unhinged pyromaniac in a red helmet. Wherever Firefly was nowadays, Dora mused, Red Hood was putting him to shame; and Batman was struggling to keep up.

What the media didn't know (and apparently the cops were keeping quiet) was the fact that most of the buildings that were bombed were fronts, hideouts, drug labs, brothels, casinos, speakeasies, and stashes of Gotham's worst gangs. Not to mention the steady stream of severed heads that were dumped almost daily on the steps of One Police Plaza were those of crime bosses and/or their highest-ranking lieutenants. Dora knew this because it was all the Alibi's customers would talk about. She even noticed that the shadiest and most delinquent of her clientele weren't coming around the bar as often.

It was plainly obvious that Gotham's criminals were scared shitless. They were scrambling, like rats trapped in a box, panicked into a frenzy, desperate for survival.

Despite the seemingly rampant destruction reported in the news, all the innocent Gotham citizens that lived on Park Row and the other impoverished neighborhoods were beginning to feel safer. Outside of Red Hood's own crimes, the news media relayed that organized and petty criminal activity in Gotham had actually decreased since his debut. It seemed like Red Hood was gaining more notoriety, yet getting further away from being caught… and it didn't seem like people wanted him to.

The streets were buzzing with support for Red Hood, and Dora noticed it everywhere—from bargoers in the Alibi to people waiting in line at Starbucks and all-over social media. The common topic of conversation now was whether you should support Batman or Red Hood. The people that favored Red Hood had taken to wearing red hoodies and baseball caps. Still, some people insisted neither Red Hood or Batman were the answer, believing that the GCPD and the courts were the best way to fight crime and protect the innocent. Because they were legal.

But to Dora, there could be no mistake. Her neighborhood of Park Row was now a safer place to live. Whenever she needed proof to reassure herself, all she had to do was open her bedroom window at night and take a moment to listen to the city. She no longer heard drug dealers and addicts yelling at each other in the alleys, the hookers and johns catcalling on the street corners, or gunshots and sirens echoing through the air—all things she used to hear on a nightly basis before Red Hood came along were now gone.

"Well, he comes on a little strong, yeah—but you can't deny the effect he's had on the town, Dee," Rochelle told Dora one night at the Alibi after last call. "Crooks are too scared to try anything. Maybe that's just what it takes in a shithole like Gotham. The city's so infested with monsters, we needed a bigger one on our side. Batman and his crew weren't enough. And I don't know if it's just me, but it seems like he's sighted around here in Park Row more often than anywhere else."

Dora found Rochelle's about-face somewhat confusing, remembering just how afraid she had been when she first encountered Red Hood.

When Dora asked her about that, she answered, "Well that was before I realized what he was doing, y'know? He's made life much better for Ben and me." (Ben was Rochelle's fiancé.) "I'm not sure what Red Hood did, but he came around our building once, then our landlord suddenly wasn't threatening us to call ICE on me anymore."

"Yeah, that's great, I guess," Dora replied.

The jury was still out in her own mind. In the weeks since Sergei's murder, she had felt the relief that came from knowing she didn't owe Black Mask half her profits every month, but it was only because of a vigilante that was basically a terrorist and mass murderer, never mind that he only targeted other criminals.

She still had nightmares and recurring pangs of guilt about what happened that night. And she hadn't forgotten that she owed Red Hood protection money instead Black Mask now, however much less it was. She didn't want to think what Red Hood was capable of if she didn't pay up.

After relieving Rochelle for the night, Dora was in the process of locking up, when someone knocked on the Alibi's front plate-glass window. Dora saw Holly's face beaming at her through the smudged glass pane. She undid the locks and let her in.

"Damn, Dee. How many locks do you have on this door?"

"Six deadbolts," Dora replied, exasperated as she locked them all again. "Can never be too careful in this neighborhood... But hey... I haven't seen or heard from you all week." She noticed that Holly was favoring her right leg as she walked in. "Are you okay? What happened to your leg?"

"Oh? This? It's nothing. Half-healed already."

"Why haven't you been replying to my texts?"

"Texts?" Holly looked confused for a moment. She swiped through her phone for a few seconds, then said, "Oh! You only had my old work number. I threw that phone out."

"Why?"

"I don't need it anymore. I'm no longer turning tricks!" Holly pulled Dora into a tight hug, giddy with laughter, a bubbly noise that Dora had never heard from her before. Holly seemed like a wholly different person.

"Are you serious? How?"

"Serious as a heart attack." Holly laughed again. "This Red Hood guy, Dee… He saved my life."

"Yeah, I was there, remember? He saved my life too. And Rocky's."

"No, I mean aside from that first time. You know Stan, right? My pimp?"

Uh oh. Dora felt her stomach drop. She could only nod, but the feeling of dread was already weighing down her stomach. Red Hood killed him.

"Well, Red Hood came around and… just…" Holly rolled her eyes, but the smile never left her face. "He tore Stan a new asshole, let's just say—"

"Is Stan still alive?" Dora had to ask. Does he still have his head?

"Yeah, Dee, don't sweat it. He's still breathing." But Holly snorted and shook her head, smirking. "Barely."

"And you saw him? You saw Red Hood do it?"

"Yeah! After taking care of Stan and his goons, he rushed all the girls out, and rigged the brothel to blow." Holly massaged her ankle. "I tripped on the curb and hurt my ankle, so he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder and fucking parkoured his way down the block until we were safe!"

Taking a second to imagine it, Dora found herself impressed. The next second, she felt a twinge of jealousy. Rochelle and Holly had both been helped by Red Hood, both once more than she had. But almost immediately she was ashamed of herself. Get your head out of your ass. Think straight. That dude is dangerous.

Then something else occurred to her. She frowned. "Wait. Holl, what are you going to do now? With Stan gone, you're out of a job, aren't you?" If Holly were older, she would offer her a job at the Alibi, but it was already bad enough that she had let her drink there.

"Not quite." Holly grabbed a bottle from the bar shelf and some tumblers from the counter. "Red Hood took over. With Stan gone, he set the girls up in a new place, with a new front, and a new madam. We have a madam, now, Dee! Not a slimy old pimp! How classy is that? Her name's Ma Gunn. I've never heard of her before and she's super old, but she's legit as fuck. Turned tricks herself back in the day, was in the high-end escort biz for years. She's Australian and posh as fuck, and doesn't traffic and doesn't force anybody on dates they don't want to go on."

"That sounds great, but if you're not going on dates, what kind of work do you do for her?"

"I take care of matchmaking and scheduling mostly." Holly put a cup of vodka in Dora's hand, her smile beaming brighter. "Ma's still having girls work the corner and the bars and her new brothel, but she's trying to set up an escort service for the whales and high rollers. I set up dates, book drivers, restaurants, hotels... I guess I'm basically a sex concierge now."

Holly clinked glasses with Dora and downed her shot in just one gulp. However, Dora didn't do the same. She lost her taste for vodka thanks to Sergei and his men. "So wait, does that mean you work for Red Hood now?"

"Yeah, I guess I—" Holly was interrupted by a loud bang, muffled by the walls. "What was that?"

"I think it was the backdoor," Dora said, looking around. "Sometimes it swings open when it's windy."

Holly frowned. "I was just outside. It's not windy tonight, Dee."

Dora recognized the sound of the backdoor slamming closed. Someone had come into the kitchen.

"Maybe it's Rocky," Dora wondered aloud. "Or my mom." Those two were the only other people than Dora that had keys to the Alibi. "I'll check it out."

She made sure her pepper spray was hanging from her belt loop, then grabbed the aluminum baseball bat from under the bar. She had almost reached the kitchen door when it swung open. A short figure burst out of it.

It took Dora a moment to recognize the person because they were wearing an orange hoodie with a backpack strapped tightly to their back. "Carla?" Dora gasped.

Her little sister slid to a halt, pulling off her hood, her sneakers squeaking on the floor.

"Carla? Your sister?" Holly asked, head bobbing between her and Dora. "Aw, she's so cute, Dee. She looks just like you. But, oh… Hey, what's wrong, honey?"

Carla was frantic, sweating bullets, out of breath, with a bone-chilling look of dread on her face.

"What are you doing here?" Dora asked. "What's wrong?"

Her little sister didn't answer any of their questions. Instead she vaulted over the bar and pulled open all the drawers and cabinets.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dora yelled. "You're not allowed back there! Stop!"

"Where's Dad's gun?" Carla shouted desperately. She fumbled underneath the counter. "Where is it?"

"What the heck do you need Dad's gun for?"

"I…" Carla looked up at Dora, finally holding still for moment, but the quivering tears in her eyes made it clear she was panicking.

She looked her age now, Dora thought; every part of her was shaking, she was scared. "Carla, talk to me," she asked as gently as she could. She handed Holly the baseball bat and held Carla's face, wiping the sweat from her forehead and the tears from her cheeks. The girl trembled in her hands. "Talk to me, it's okay."

Carla didn't look at Dora, but at Holly instead, blinking her wet eyes in confusion.

"That's Holly. She's my friend. She's cool."

Carla whimpered and shrugged off her backpack. "I'm sorry, Dee…" She unzipped it. Dora looked inside and her jaw dropped.

Holly peeked over Dora's shoulder and gasped, "Holy shit."

The backpack was stuffed full of bricks of white powder, tightly wrapped in plastic.

"That's a lot of fucking coke!" Holly exclaimed. "What the fuck? How'd you get your hands on all that?"

"I was running product for my crew," Carla said, breathless. "But then some guys from another crew tried to steal it… I ran… but I don't know if I lost them. I'm so sorry, Dora!"

"Wait, you're part of a gang?" Dora didn't know whether to feel angry, sad, or disappointed. What was certain, though, was how worried she was about her little sister. "Carla…"

But a loud banging penetrated the walls again. Carla yelped and jumped out of Dora's grasp. "No! They found me! Fuck, Dora, we have to get out of here!" She grabbed a handful of Dora's t-shirt and pulled her toward the front door. "They got guns! We have to run!"

Ptnng! Ptnng! Womp! The sounds made it clear that the men after Carla had shot the lock or hinges off the back door. The sound of several heavy footsteps came from the kitchen.

Dora looked at the six deadbolts locking up the front door all the way across the bar. She cursed. At the rate it usually took her to fumble through them, they would never escape in time.

They were trapped.

Notes

Song Reference: "Beast and the Harlot" by Avenged Sevenfold

Version 41.1