Have you ever been inside a GCPD Interrogation room? It's hostile. The architecture, the design of the room. A single steel table, metal chairs, the cuffs resting on the table even if they weren't in use. Across from me sat Detective James Gordon and his partner Detective Harvey Bullock.
Bullock the Bully. He's been mean mugging me the whole time, which is to be expected. I'm the kid of one of the bigger pains in his side, and I'm fairly certain my old man's shot him before.
"Henry James Macleod, Nineteen, Sophomore at Gotham Technical University. Recipient of the Martha Wayne Scholarship for Disadvantaged Youth. Clean Record. Owner of a Smith and Wesson Model 29 Backpacker." Gordon spoke, chucking a file that I knew was mostly empty onto the table.
"Ain't you a little young to be carrying, Kid?" Bullock quipped, and I raised an eyebrow.
"Do you not see my currently fucked up face?" I snarked, "I can buy a pistol from a private seller at eighteen. I have the bill of sale, and my LTC, but you two already knew that."
"We have a few questions concerning that, if you're willing to talk." Gordon was obviously Good Cop here, softer speaking and looking a bit more understanding of the whole situation.
"I'm here ain't I?" I muttered, leaning back in my chair. It was my first time in an interrogation room.
I wish it was the last.
"Two days ago, eyewitnesses placed you being dragged into the trunk of a car whilst bleeding from the face. About two hours later, a firefight erupts at Warehouse D17 on Gotham Harbor. Six members of the Falcone crime family are dead. A bloody crowbar was found at the scene, and it's got your blood on it." Gordon speaks, staring me down.
"Finally joined up with the family business, Kid?" Bullock snarks, and I roll my eyes.
"I've never been involved, nor will ever be involved in the Cobblepot Syndicate." I declare firmly, "I got home from school, Jimmy Darmody and Stocky Brown are waiting inside with baseball bats. I knock Darmody for a loop but Stocky conks me good. I woke up tied to a chair. A certain someone who you know I can't name without getting shot the moment I walk outside tells me they were there for my Da. I told this certain someone to fuck off, he hits me with a crowbar. I hit the ground, and don't come to until this morning with fresh stitches and a bill from Doc Thompkins."
"That matches with some of the other witnesses we have." Gordon mutters, scribbling things down in his notepad.
Old Lady Romani across the street. Nosy, but good natured. Likely she already skipped town.
"You really believe this guy, Jim? You know who his dad is right?" Bullock is putting on a show, if they had anything to actually book me on, they would've done it by now.
"Do you know who my father was, Harv?" Gordon shoots back, shutting Bullock up quick.
Gordon turns back towards me, eyes kind.
"We can offer you witness protection, if you're willing to testify against Sionis, Macleod."
I shake my head. He means well, and he knows I'm not lying, but I can't take that risk.
"You and I both know that's a death sentence, Detective. I don't play, but I know the rules. I'm a civilian. I can cooperate, but if I bring someone too big down? I'm spending the night in the Slaughter Swamp."
"You really think a bunch of two-bit gangsters can take on the GCPD?" Bullock blusters, but I hit him with the most deadpan of deadpan looks.
"Detective Bullock, the GCPD would be the ones pulling the trigger." I raise my hands and place them on the table, offering my wrists. "Am I being detained?"
"No." Gordon quickly answers, cutting off Bullock's 'maybe'.
"I've provided you with a statement, I've provided the names of those I can. I would cooperate more, but that would put my life at risk, as such, I would like to go home now."
The two detectives share a look, before Gordon sighs, stands up and nods to the door.
"I'll give you a ride home, Kid."
The Drive is relatively quiet, but it's still twenty minutes, and not saying anything just isn't in human nature.
"No-Neck got me good once. Knocked me flat during a raid." Gordon spoke, and I felt a small smirk grow on my face that I couldn't force down in time to keep the detective from seeing it.
"No disrespect intended, Detective." I quickly school my face, but there's amusement in the redhead's eyes.
"None taken. Your old man's got a hell of a punch. It seems you've inherited that, judging by the lack of teeth Darmody had when we booked him earlier today…You're really trying to stay out of the game, Son?" He asks, and I nod.
"I love my Dad, I love Uncle Oz, but every day, I worry I'm going to see them on the front page. Dead, and the city celebrating it." I speak softly, watching the city lights whiz by. "Dad won't retire. He's too loyal. His idea of retirement is getting caught and shipped to Blackgate."
"Sounds like No-Neck, that's for sure. You know how many times he's been in that seat you're in?"
"At least six."
"Try nine. He's one of the better ones. He can be a smug bastard, sure. But he's respectful, understands that what he's doing is illegal, and that it's my job to arrest him. Some of these guys. Jesus kid." He shakes his head as he drives. "I got called all kinds of heinous shit when I got back from the sandbox. But they didn't compare to the things I've heard come out of some of these guys' mouths."
"Most folk involved in organized crime aren't exactly nice, Detective. My Da tries, but he can be a right mean bastard when he wants to. I've been called every slur for an Irishman under the sun, usually by my Da's coworkers. Hell, it's one reason I swore I'd stay out of it. I'd lose my temper and murder my own guys." I joked, earning a smirk from the Detective.
"Then you'd best avoid joining up in the GCPD, they're just as bad if not worse. I don't know how HR handles all of those complaints."
"Simple, they don't."
"Deduction skills like that and you should look into getting my job, kid."
I got home, bid the Detective adieu, and the night went.
The next few days flowed into a bit of normalcy, then weeks, then months. I kept an eye on the papers, the news. Always checking to see if I found my Da in the obituaries. Nothing. It was a slight relief, but there were more and more reports of the Bat dismantling the Falcone crime family, and more and more often taking on Sionis and Uncle Oz.
I would work in the lab, handle my schoolwork, bullshit with Quinzel, the works, but I knew at some point that this grace period would come crashing down.
When it did, it crashed hard .
Woodrue had us working with an external lab for a few weeks now, testing some kind of pheromone experiment he had running. I was running late. A sinking feeling settled in my gut as I got out of the city proper on the way to the lab on the edge of Slaughter Swamp.
I powered through it, driving through the rough roads. I should've known something was up when I saw two cars burn rubber past me away from the lab. I recognized one of them, Woodrue's Honda, still. I didn't see Isley's car, so I kept up.
I got to the lab to find it locked, but with the lights on. The moment I stepped out of my car, I could smell it.
Smoke.
Doc Isley's car was still outside, and I didn't see her with Woodrue…
"Son of a bitch! " I snarled out before booting the door to the lab open and rushing in and pulling the alarm.
I moved quickly, pulling an extinguisher off of the wall and rushing to the work area. The sprinklers were already unleashing their payload of water, but I needed to find Doc Isley.
The work area was ransacked, papers lying everywhere, I could see where they started the fire, but the sprinklers already took care of it by the time I got there. No, I was more concerned by seeing Doc Isley on the ground with an empty syringe next to her. With a grunt, I got her onto my shoulders in a fireman's carry.
"Henry…?" She mumbled, still under the effects of whatever Woodrue injected her with.
"I'm here, Doc, I'm gonna get you some help, don't you worry, lass." I responded, running back to the entrance of the lab. Two minutes faster, and I would've gotten away clean. Fookin Woodrue…
I was met outside by two thugs, one familiar, the other new.
"As I live and breathe, No-Neck Jr! Didn't I already bust your skull in?" Stocky Brown, resting his baseball bat on his shoulders, the other thug was a big fella, and was hoisting a few cans of gasoline. Well. Now I know who Woodrue's patron was.
"This really isn't a good time, Stocky." I responded, shifting Isley's weight so I could use my right arm without her falling.
"Mmmph I didn't know you were so strong, Henry…" Isley mumbled in her fugue state.
"I think it's a just fine time, don't you think, John?" Stocky quipped, shifting his bat to his hands.
"Client said no Evidence." The big lug spoke, and it was obvious the man was short a few brain cells. Still, I nipped this coming confrontation in the bud.
I drew out the revolver, quickly training it on Stocky's chest. His eyes widened.
"Well now…let's not be too hasty here, Junior."
"This woman has been drugged. I'm going to take her to my car, and get her to the nearest hospital. I didn't see you, I didn't hear you, you were never here." I spoke sternly, eyes darting between the two thugs with steel in my soul. "Or, you choose option B, and I leave the two of you cunts to the swamp."
"You can't even handle that cannon, Junior." Stocky acts confident, but he's sweating.
"Do you want to find out what .44 Mag hollow points will do to your internal organs, Stocky? I'm happy to oblige you!" I snarled out, beginning to circle around the duo to my car. Pointedly ignoring the giggles that Isley was letting out in my ear.
"Client didn't say anything about heat, Stocky. He didn't pay us for that." Big man speaks, setting down the cans and crossing his arms.
Stocky shoots a glare at the big man before he lets out a sigh, shifting his bat to lean on it like a cane as he thinks for a bit before addressing me again, this time with a nod.
"We were never here. You didn't see us, we didn't see you. Agreed?" He asked, I popped my car door open with my foot and got Isley settled before I nodded at him.
"Agreed. We playing by the Rules this time, Stocky?" I asked.
The Rules. Unspoken, but respected. Honor among thieves, you leave women and kids out of it, you don't fuck with doctors or firefighters, and you don't hold grudges. The kingpins didn't give a damn, but the footsoldiers, associates like Stocky who'd been in the Life for their whole lives?
They lived by it.
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Junior. Go on. Get out of here."
I burned rubber to Gotham Central Hospital.