Madelineex3—Hey, I squealed when I got four reviews on one of the chapters in the first one, so I think that you are perfectly fine, though I probably would've laughed anyway. Really? You think I started quickly, and I'm glad that I made you happy. You know? I'm gonna have a problem on my hands again! What if I do something incredibly crappy? Then what? *sigh* Well, I'm glad that the second chapter was awesome… I laugh at you because you will never find me MWAHAHAHAHA!!!! =D

Hrsracer00—Now, I'm pretty sure that it's supposed to be Horse Racer 00, but it could very easily be Hearse Racer 00 =P Anyways, glad that it wasn't crap. Are you saying that it wasn't very good either when you say it was enough to keep people going? I'm not taking offense, just asking. =) Enjoy the next chapter.

Dead-Poetic-Slumber—Yeah, the second chapter and romance have always been my weak points, so it'll be iffy. I'm glad that you liked it anyways, and you're welcome about your name. Bruce and Alex will have an interesting relationship to say the least, so I hope that it works out. ;)

Sabre—I see your point, and I thought that that was what you meant, but I wasn't sure. I'm sorry to hear about your hand, and I hope that it gets well soon.

Johanna—Again, you made me smile, and I totally see your point about being on cloud nine. He is Bruce Wayne and quite sexy if I don't say so myself. =P I don't know how the mention of the scar and Joker made her more than a straight cop with a love interest, but I'm glad about that. This story is kinda gonna be a little bit of her struggling with the Joker and other things in her mind. I haven't seen Public Enemies, but I want to soooo badly!!! Why was nachos a mistake?

Hannah—Glad they make you smile. Here's more.

Blpaul—Don't worry about not reviewing. I'm sure that you'll review on just about every other chapter, so missing the first one doesn't bother me that much. Alfred is not dead! Do not fear! =D No just some other white rich guy that you will find out about in this chapter.

Sam—If this is who I think it is, hi! If not, hi anyways. Glad that you enjoyed my last story. I was really proud of that one, and hopefully this one will be just as good. I can't give you any hints to what the end result will be, but I'm glad that somebody noticed that I was hinting something between Al and Wilson. I'm glad that there is another vote for Al and Bruce though. May help sway my decision.

Finally I made it to Park Avenue and Langori Apartments, which were rumored to be the cheapest apartments in the area. Just the apartment building itself looked about twenty times nicer than my humble building. I parked the car on the side and walked up the front stairs into the nicest lobby with marble floors and gold mailboxes. This was intense and sad that it was the cheapest in the area because I knew that I would never, ever be able to afford it! I showed my badge to the officer by the elevator.

He nodded to me. "Just hit PH, Ma'am, and you'll go on up."

I smiled and got on the elevator and hit the instructed button. The elevator was about the size of my kitchen, I noticed, with beautiful marble floors and mirrored walls with a few delicately placed tiles, which I didn't quite understand the purpose of. Plus, this elevator moved about three times as fast as my elevator. It probably never quit running either, unlike my elevator, which always seemed to break down whenever I got groceries. Stupid thing. After 25 floors, the elevator dinged and I was looking at the penthouse suite of Langori Apartments, and it was amazing. It looked about the same as Bruce's, but less modern.

I was greeted by a familiar face as I ducked under the crime scene tape on the elevator door. Johnson stood there with a strange look on his face; one of happiness to see me, and the other of disgust from seeing the body of the rich guy. He looked good in his new uniform though. It seemed as though he kept it ironed for all eternity. "Deputy Commissioner."

I hid a smile. "Lieutenant."

We shook hands, but ended up laughing anyway.

"It's good to see you, Al," he smiled.

I nodded. "It's so good to see you again! Now you have a new uniform and everything."

He blushed. "Your dad is awesome."

Oh yeah. Dad. I looked at my watch, and figured that he would probably be home by now, arguing with Barb. I sighed. "I know. He's amazing." I meant it, but time to change the subject to the job at hand. "So where is the dead, rich, white guy?"

He pointed down towards the stairs. "Upstairs in the master bathroom. Wilson's waiting for you."

"Thanks."

He moved past me towards the elevator. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some amazingly hot girl at some unknown bar waiting for me." He winked as the elevator doors opened up.

"Don't get too drunk," I warned.

The doors slid shut and he descended away from the penthouse.

I walked up the stairs and into the master suite. I have to be honest, it was actually nicer than Bruce's place, but it didn't feel as comfortable here. There was definitely something wrong here, but I all ready knew: death had settled in here. It's a weird thing to say, but it's true; once there is a death in a place, it changes that place forever, and it was very obvious here. I looked over at the family of the rich white guy that had died. The woman, whom I was assuming was the wife, was holding her son in her arms. The son looked about 13, but his face was paler than the white walls he was standing against. Strangely, the wife wasn't crying. I couldn't explain that. If my husband had just been killed, I would be bawling, but she wasn't. I ducked into the bathroom, which is where Johnson said Wilson was waiting with our new friend.

Laying in the bathtub, which was mostly filled with water, was a middle-aged white guy. Well, at least Wilson didn't get the description wrong. Unfortunately, at first glance and a second one too, this guy had three obvious causes of death, which meant whoever killed this guy was trying to confuse us. He had strangulation marks around his neck; his pupils were dilated, suggesting he was drugged; and then the obvious, drowning. The ME was going to have lots of fun on this one.

"You're late," I heard Wilson from behind me. "You're never late, Al."

I blushed as my lips began to tingle and my mind rushed back to the bar. I didn't say anything about it, but apparently my red face and smile gave it away.

"You were on a date," he exclaimed.

I shook my head.

"Al, don't bother with that. I know; I saw Wayne leave that card for you when you were in the hospital. You were with him." Guess, being a detective didn't always just stay at MCU.

"Fine! Maybe I was with him. What's your point?"

He shrugged. His little pad of paper was still in his hand from when he took the statements of the family, and it waved around as he moved his hands. "He's a playboy, Alex."

I raised my eyebrows at him. I knew that word, but I never exactly knew the definition of it.

"Player, Al. He uses girls to get what he wants and then moves on."

"He's different than that," I protested.

"Maybe, but Al, don't get played," he warned in a very genuine tone. The left side of his mouth formed into a sympathetic smile.

I glared at him before changing the subject. "What about this guy?" I pointed to the dead body in the porcelain bathtub.

"His name is Ian McCallaster—"

"McCallaster?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

I shook my head. "No, but I think he was at one of Bruce's fundraisers."

Wilson raised his eyebrows at me. "Explains the penthouse."

"Sure does. Anyway, who found him?" I asked as I brought the conversation back to its proper course. But I did make a mental note to ask Bruce about this guy when I saw him again.

He pointed out the door of the bathroom to the family. "His son," he flipped open his notes, "Robert McCallaster, preferred to be called Bobby."

"That kid is never gonna get over this," I sighed.

Wilson nodded.

We walked out of the bathroom and back into the master suite. The wife and son had moved over to sit on the bed, but their looks hadn't changed although color had somewhat returned back to the boy's face. The wife still wasn't crying; she didn't even look sad. I elbowed Wilson. "Don, don't you think that it's strange that the wife isn't crying at all?"

He looked at me. "No. She's probably just in shock that he's gone."

I stared at her again, trying to figure it out. She met my gaze and made a pout with her face. There was definitely something she wasn't telling us. "Maybe," I sighed distractedly. "We should probably get the security footage from tonight from the lobby and elevator."

He nodded. "I'll go do that."

"Thanks," I said as he walked down the stairs. I walked over to the family. I pulled up a chair and sat across from them. "I'm so sorry for your loss," I said with almost no emotion.

She looked up at me. Her makeup was smudge on her porcelain face, but her graying blonde hair was still in perfect shape. Hairspray would do that to hair. The diamond necklace around her neck was definitely real, and probably cost about 1 million dollars with earrings to match. Her fancy suit screamed Armani. "Thank you, but I know you don't mean it." She would've been right about a year ago, but since the Joker came and Martin was killed, she was wrong.

"Ma'am—"

She shook her head and stuck out her hand. "Don't call me 'Ma'am.' It's Linda."

I shook her hand. "Alex, and I really truly am sorry, Linda. I lost someone close to me recently, so I know what it's like, but I noticed that you aren't crying."

She gestured towards the stairs. "Shall we go downstairs? Maybe somewhere more private to talk." She got up, leaving me no choice but to follow.

I followed Linda McCallaster down the stairs into what looked to be a private sitting room, almost like an old parlor, but I knew that this building was much newer than that. Still, the old Persian rug and velvet chairs (all in dark colors, I might add) with the low lighting made a great replica to an old parlor. In fact, this entire penthouse had that type of feeling. I sat across from her in the very worn out maroon couch that just sucked me up in it. I didn't know if I would be able to ever get out of it, but I wasn't complaining. It was quite comfortable. "Your home is lovely," I admired as she sat down with a cup of tea in a porcelain cup.

"Ian loved his ancestry. Decorated this entire place like the pictures he's seen of them, even with some of the actual pieces." She choked. "I'm sorry. It's hard to know that he'll never be around here again. Not that he was much anyway."

This peaked my interest, so I scooted myself a little more towards the edge of the seat and folded my hands. "What do you mean?"

"He was working quite a bit lately. Always said that they either had a new deal or that he had to put in some more overtime, but he was rarely home with Bobby and me." She sighed and took a sip of her tea. "Bobby loved him though. They used to go out and play football and catch all the time, but since Ian started working harder, they really wouldn't." She rubbed her eyes. "That's why I'm not crying; being strong for my son."

I nodded in understanding, but I sensed that that wasn't the whole truth. "What about you though? You have to be crushed beyond the point of trying to be strong."

She shook her head. "No. I knew that he didn't love me very much anymore, but we both tried to relight the flame that we used to have. You know, take weekend trips to romantic places, etcetera." She smiled at this point.

"Again, I'm sorry," I replied sincerely. I pulled out my notepad from my jacket pocket and wrote down a few things about the relationship between the family members. I wasn't really shocked at the fact that he was a little bit of a dead beat dad, but no one seemed to really mind; my guess on that was all the money he brought in. I was positive now that he had gone to a couple of Bruce's parties or whatever you would call them.

There was a knock on the door, and Wilson stuck his head in. He held up a disc in a nice little package. "Got the security footage, and Al, press is down there begging for a statement about the case." He smiled at Linda.

I sighed. I really hated dealing with press, and when I worked along side Dad, he would give the statements. Now it was my job, and I hated it. It was horrible, because it was kind of like being thrown to the wolves. I sighed. This was going to be a pain in the butt, but I stood up anyway. "Thank you, Linda. I'll call you as soon as we get something definitive in your husband's case." I smiled and walked out of the door with Wilson in stride with me.

We left the early 20th Century style penthouse as we stepped into the elevator. We descended quickly, which meant we hit the bottom floor sooner than I would've liked. I stood in the elevator for a little bit after it touched down, and hit the "Doors Closed" button to buy myself some time.

"You all right, Alex?" Wilson asked.

"Depends on how you're defining all right," I shot back.

He laughed. "Good point."

"I hate these things. Hate," I put out there.

He put his hand on my shoulder. "You'll do fine. You always do, but I'll bring the car around so you can make a quick escape."

I looked up at him and smiled. "You're the best." The doors opened, and the press was out there, just barely outside of the building since Johnson and his squad were keeping them out on the street. Apparently the press had stopped Johnson from heading to that bar and girl he was talking about. Guess that the slight delay wouldn't hurt too much, or at least that was probably what he thought. Cameras were rolling as reporters were filling everyone in about the horrible death that had just taken place. There were journalists too with digital cameras poised and ready to take the shot as I walked out. The sun had set, meaning that there were spotlights set up to get the perfect lighting on me. This was going to be living Hell. I walked across the lobby, controlling my quick breathing to a slow and steady rate, out onto the steps of the apartment building to be immediately bombed with questions. My breathing sped up again.

"Is it true that Ian McCallaster is really dead?"

"Do you know who did it?"

"Deputy Commissioner! Deputy Commissioner!"

I sighed and held up hands for some quiet; it honestly didn't work very well. The only thing it did for me was get about three or four more microphones added to the five all ready held to my face. When did Gotham get so many news channels? I wondered as I thought of the right words to say. Finally, I saw Wilson pull up in a relatively clear shot from where I was standing. I began. "Today, something sad has happened; Ian McCallaster was killed. The details of this cannot be released at this time as it is an ongoing investigation. We are doing everything that we can at this time to catch whoever killed Mr. McCallaster. We have just gotten this case so be patient with us, because we will get whoever did this. No further comment at this time."

Of course, did the press ever really leave it at that? No. They all shoved the microphones and recorders further into my face and began firing more questions at me.

"Is it true that you are dating Bruce Wayne?"

"Did you really kiss him at O'Malley's Pub and Grill?"

It caught my attention, but I tuned them out into one large rumbling noise as I walked, quite swiftly, towards the car. They got more persistent and began to try to block my path. This was got me about me about the press. They never just let you leave, and I would tend to let my anger flare a little bit. Tonight thought they were particularly persistent, and the cameramen were almost completely successful in blocking my path without me having any chance of getting by. The rumble of the reporters got louder, and I was beginning to think that I was going to need to yell at them to leave me alone. Of course, that would be the stupidest thing I could do since there were cameras and recorders everywhere.

Apparently, Johnson had seen my failing struggle as was I surrounded by the sea of press because soon enough, he was yelling at the press people to back off and leave. "You have your statement. Now go away! Isn't it obvious she isn't going to say anything else?" He pushed them away so that I would have just enough room to sneak by and make it to the car.

I did just that and practically jogged my way down the sidewalk to the car, my protection from the swarm. I pulled open the door and climbed inside, slamming the door behind me. I was halfway out of breath as I sat there for a moment before Wilson actually started moving. I saw Johnson and his squad standing in front of the press keeping them from me. He turned around and smiled. I waved to him. "You would think I was some sort of celebrity," I told Wilson.

He looked at me incredulously. "You kinda are," he pointed out. "Plus, one of the richest people in Gotham just died. They wanna know what happened." He started the car and pulled out onto the street in front of a taxi, who honked quite loudly at us for cutting him off. "Screw you!" he shouted at the taxi.

I turned to him. "They were asking about Bruce."

He pointed his finger at me as concentrated on the road. "Hence the semi-celebrity status." He paused as we turned onto our street. Now we had about five more minutes of drive time on a traffic free day; fifteen if we were lucky tonight. "Relax, Al. People will get over it eventually."

I sighed and nodded. He might be right, or he could very well be wrong. If Bruce and I turned into anything serious, people may not get over it. This was definitely going to be an interesting time in my life.

Wilson rested his arm on the windowsill as we waited in the long line of cars. He pondered to himself for a while before pondering out loud. "So how do you think he died?"

Light bulb moment: I need to call the ME to see when the autopsy report would be ready. "Hold that thought, Don," I said as I lifted my butt up to get the phone. I dialed the Morgue and waited.

"Gotham City and County Morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em."

I couldn't hold back the burst of laughter that erupted from my mouth at the classic joke. "Hey, Sid," I greeted through the giggles. "You haven't used that one in a while."

"Ah, Deputy Commissioner Gordon," he slurred, but he was in no way drunk. It was just how he talked. "It is a good one, huh?"

"Call me Alex, or Chief if you want to be formal," I insisted. I got a look and a smirk from Wilson as I said this.

"Well then Alex, what can I do for you, or who may I do for you?" He was trying to be clever, but it certainly wasn't working. He just sounded perverted.

"You should get a different thing that, Sid, but you're getting there." We both chuckled. "Anyways, what can you give me on Ian McCallaster?"

"I got the call, but not the body. Patience, my dear, I will call you when the body is ready for you." With that he hung up, and I sat in silence for the rest of the ride up to MCU, pondering the death of Ian McCallaster.

Well, that's it for chapter 3. Hope you all love it. Don't have much to say on the matter other than clicky the button. Oh, school starts for me on Thursday so the chapters may not come in as regularly as desired, and I may start working on my own novel that could be published. Hope that that will work out and wish me luck for school. Again, clicky the button to give the reviews of which I love.