They stopped at three more bars that night, and at each one, G either challenged or befriended the biggest, baddest boss in the bar, giving each one a pitch that encouraged their cooperation with finding who shot Batman, as well as a code word like G had given Big Mike.

Sam had rolled his eyes at those code words - mermaid, larkspur, spearmint, orangutan - but G just shrugged. They were unusual, and that was all G needed them to be.

G's burn phone rang just after midnight, as they were leaving a bar that G remembered as somewhat seedier than it was now.

G answered the phone. "Malone."

"You the one offering the reward?" The voice that came through was thin, almost reedy, and held a note of panic.

"Yeah," G said. "You the one claiming it?"

"Yeah," the man said. "Bring it, cash, to Kane Bridge, the west side. In an hour."

G laughed aloud. "Not a chance. First, I don't carry that much cash with me. Second, Kane Bridge is too dark, too deserted. Eleven tomorrow night at Thompkins Clinic."

"An hour," the man repeated. "Whatever cash you can bring. Thompkins Clinic."

The call went dead. G looked up into Sam's inquiring gaze.

"Thompkins Clinic," G told him. "An hour."

"Where are you supposed to get the reward money in an hour?" Sam asked.

"No idea," G answered. "Good thing we're not really giving any to him."

"How do you want to play it?" Sam asked.

"Fairly straight up," G answered immediately. He'd considered several approaches, and this one seemed the best since this was an undercover operation with the approval and consent of the local LEOs.

"Get him to confirm he shot Batman, then arrest him." Sam sounded satisfied. "Easy enough."

"Don't jinx it," G muttered.

Sam laughed briefly before saying, "How long to this clinic?"

"This time of night?" Babs' voice came through their earpieces. "Fifteen minutes from your current location."

"Have you called Dr. Thompkins?" G asked. "I remember she liked to work late."

"I'm en route," Robin said. "I'll tell her."

"I'm calling GCPD," Babs added.

"Make sure they hang back," G said. "Don't need them showing up and spooking our guy."

Babs acknowledged the order with a simple, "Will do."

Save for being a little worse for wear and time, Leslie Thompkins' East End Clinic looked just as G remembered it. At fifteen minutes before one a.m., the few working streetlamps highlighted the name on the clinic, which seemed to have recently been painted - a result, no doubt, of Bruce's ongoing support of the woman who had offered him comfort the night his parents were killed not too far from here.

"You sure this isn't a trap?" Sam asked quietly.

"I don't see any signs of one," Robin answered through the comms.

Sam's expression asked whether G believed the young man.

"If you were taught like I was," G answered both Robin's observation and Sam's unspoken question, "then we're good."

"We're good," Robin said. Then, "I see someone approaching up Kane Street. Maybe two minutes out, the way he's moving."

G nodded to indicate the direction of Kane Street, and Sam shifted position so that he faced Kane Street. Still, between them, they could scan all the approaches to the clinic.

"How's he moving?" Sam asked.

"Quick but cautious," Robin answered. "Fast walk, keeps looking over his shoulder."

"Any sign of a weapon?" G asked.

"I don't see one - but he's got a jacket, so he might be carrying."

"Roger that," G said, then settled back to lean against the car, looking for all the world like he was playing a game on his phone. Nearby, Sam stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Jesus, Sam," G muttered. "You'll scare him off."

He heard Robin laugh and Babs stifle a chuckle. Sam glared at him but made a visible attempt to relax his stance somewhat.

G smirked before apparently turning his attention back to his phone. His other senses were on alert, and it wasn't long before he heard footsteps approaching.

"Someone's here," Sam said, and G straightened. He already knew where Kane Street was, but still he waited for Sam to nod before turning to look in the direction Sam indicated. Appearances had to be maintained, after all.

At least until they arrested the sonuvabitch.

"Recording," Babs said through the comm.

The man who approached them looked as though he hadn't slept in several days - not well, at least - and had a growth of beard to match. As he drew closer, G fought the urge to cover his mouth against the man's unwashed stench.

"You Malone?" the man asked, though it was more of a stammer than an actual question.

"Jamie Malone," G said. "And you are…?"

"I shot The Bat," the man said.

"Anyone can say that. Can you prove it?"

"What, with a video or something?" The man stared at him. "I can tell you how it happened."

"How did it happen?" G asked.

"I'd just hit a pawn shop on O'Neill," the man said. "And I was thinking I'd gotten away clean when he showed up."

Interesting, G thought, how even after almost twenty years people still didn't want to say Batman's name aloud. Someday, someone should write a history of the Batman's mystique - but not him, not now.

"Go on."

"I panicked, man - wouldn't you?" The man must've read G's silence as agreement, because he continued, "I panicked, and I ran, and then I hit a blind alley, nowhere to go - and I turned, and pulled the trigger."

It was plausible enough, but in his time with NCIS and other alphabet agencies, G had heard more false confessions than a priest heard real ones. If he were going to arrest a man, G had to be sure it was the right man.

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Where'd you shoot him?" G clarified.

"I thought I'd missed - I mean, he kept coming, leaping down from the roof like - like - I dunno, some kind of daredevil. Then I realized he wasn't leaping, he was falling."

"Then what?" It took every bit of G's undercover skill to keep his expression neutral and his tone merely interested, but then he hadn't gotten the reputation as one of the best undercover operatives in the country by chance.

"He fell on a fire escape, and didn't move."

"And?"

The man swallowed, his gaze darting around the area. "And - I ran. Been running ever since."

"Why run? You shot The Bat - you're a hero."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Until they started asking questions."

G didn't have to hide his frown. "What questions?"

"What's he look like under the mask." The man snorted. "Like I was gonna climb up a fire escape just to look under the mask."

G didn't have to fake his surprise and was glad it covered his relief. Bruce's identity was still safe.

"Like I said, man - I ran. And I'm gonna run right outta Gotham soon's you hand over the reward." The man shifted on his feet, but held G's gaze. "Finder's fee is ten large, so I figure the reward's gotta be at least a hundred."

G flicked a glance at Sam. It was all the other man needed to move forward.

"More like ten to fifteen years," G said.

Sam grabbed the man's arm, pulled it behind him. "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

The man stared at G as though his whole life had just ended. Which, in a way, it had.

"You're a cop."

"Federal agent," G agreed easily, then grinned. "Don't blame Malone. Not his fault I used his name to buy credibility."

Sam finished the Miranda warnings as he handcuffed the man and urged him toward the car.

"You can't!" The man struggled, but there was no way he'd break free of Sam's grip. Hell, G couldn't break free of it, if Sam decided to press the issue. "You can't! I'll never get out of prison alive."

"Shoulda thought of that before you shot him." Sam shut the door on the man who'd shot Batman.