Officer Alvarez returned with two prisoners, looking emotionless.
One was Cuevas, the muscular leather-clad carjacker, and the other was Hargrove, the utterly miserable bomb expert.
"Hey, this kid is about to piss himself." Wilson waved enthusiastically at Hargrove, but the Black prisoner's face was unreadable. His lips, however, were white as chalk, and his legs wouldn't stop shaking.
"Alright, snap out of it. Don't mess this up." Jay reached out and checked Cuevas's pulse, finding it normal, and signed the handover document.
Alvarez looked visibly relieved and immediately retreated behind her desk without lingering for a moment.
"Is that man always so dedicated to work?"
"Maybe he's busy looking at Jenna Jameson's pictures?"
Jay and Wilson exchanged a knowing smile, preparing to escort the prisoners to the parking lot, when they noticed three men strutting across the police headquarters lobby towards them.
Leading the way was a short man with a hooked nose, carrying a black umbrella. A slightly oversized gray suit draped his slender frame.
He wore a black bow tie, had slicked-back, damp hair, and a pale complexion.
He walked with a limp, like a tree leaning in the wind.
His face held an enthusiastic, almost fawning smile, but his eyes were sharp as ice picks, quickly scanning everyone.
"Good afternoon, Officers," the short man said, his voice full of warmth and politeness. "I am Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot.
Mr. Falcone is very concerned about the safety of these two gentlemen being transported back to the East Precinct.
He specifically instructed me to bring some men to assist you officers in completing this… um… important escort mission. Heh-heh."
He gave a slight bow, his movement somewhat stiff, but Jay was even more nervous.
Even with minimal comic knowledge, he knew this was the Penguin, the future Emperor of Crime.
He might be unremarkable now, but once he got fatter, he would be trouble.
"Uh… Mr. Cobblepot, we appreciate Mr. Falcone's generosity. However, escorting prisoners is the duty of the Gotham Police Department, and we have established procedures."
He was not surprised that Falcone had sent someone to monitor the situation. After all, this involved the Roman's reputation.
But openly collaborating with the mob on a prisoner transport would be a massive black mark in the future, one that could be dug up at any time.
"Of course, of course, Officer," Cobblepot smiled even more warmly, his face radiating sincerity. "We completely respect police procedure.
We are merely… um… providing a bit of extra security to ensure no unfortunate 'accidents' happen on the road.
We will simply follow behind you and won't interfere with the officers' duties. I'll wait for you outside."
He waved his hand, then turned and left the lobby with his two bodyguards, who had bulging coats.
Jay sighed in relief. Just as he was about to signal his partner to leave, he noticed Wilson frozen in place, looking deeply stunned.
"Hey… Hey!"
He raised his voice slightly, drawing a few glances. Wilson finally snapped out of his trance, gave Jay a deep look, shook his head, and said, "Let's go!"
The two pushed the prisoners out of the lobby and found three Crown Victorias lined up in the parking lot, each with several gunmen inside.
Wilson silently loaded the prisoners into the back of the van and locked them into the security restraints.
He then climbed into the passenger seat, grabbed Jay's collar, and roared in a low voice, "What the hell is going on? Why are Falcone's men involved?!"
"Because those four guys were sent by Fish Mooney to hijack Hargrove to blow up the Roman's vault. The Roman needs the witness back to clean house."
Jay jabbed a thumb towards the back compartment. "Hey, relax. Bob said nobody messes with Falcone. It's a safe bet to side with him."
"What the fuck? How dare she? No wonder everyone says that woman is crazy." Wilson's eyes widened, but he also let out a long breath.
He released Jay's collar and tugged at it again. "Don't take it personally, brother. I just get nervous when Falcone is involved. I'll buy you a drink later."
"Don't get too complacent. Fish might not surrender so easily. You and Bob both called her crazy." Jay glanced outside. The three Crown Vics were ready to move. "Otherwise, why would the Roman be making such a big show of it?"
"Don't worry. I bet he's doing this to bring the witness back and hold a supposed public and fair trial for Fish in front of the family council. Those Europeans love that kind of theatrics."
Wilson stretched back against the seat. "To be precise, that woman isn't crazy; she's willful.
She always thinks she should get whatever she wants. But now, she either surrenders or runs, or she's dead."
Reality seemed to align with his thoughts.
The drive back to the East Precinct was surprisingly calm.
The two led the way in the Chevrolet G20 van, with Wilson in the passenger seat, vigilantly scanning the roadside and the rear-view mirror.
Cobblepot's three Crown Vics followed steadily several dozen meters behind.
There were no sudden vehicles, no cold glints of a sniper rifle, and no roadblocks.
Only the grey sky of a Gotham afternoon, the dilapidated streets, and scattered, numb pedestrians.
The roar of the engine and the sound of tires on the pavement repeated monotonously, making the drive feel drowsy.
Gradually, the slightly decaying building of the East Precinct appeared at the end of the view.
Jay slowly pulled the van into the precinct's back parking lot, and Cobblepot's motorcade filed in after him.
Bob was already waiting there, looking displeased. Several of his trusted officers stepped forward and escorted the prisoners out of the van.
Cobblepot walked up to Bob, leaning on his black umbrella, his face still bearing that humble and fawning smile.
"Chief McGinnis, thank you for your officers delivering these two gentlemen safely. Now, please hand them over to me. Mr. Falcone is waiting for them."
Bob pondered for a moment, puffing on his cigar, then waved his men to release the prisoners.
It would be embarrassing for the prisoners to disappear while in the East Precinct's custody, but this was part of the agreement with HQ.
Besides, he had already made a fortune from this trip. A few squabbled reports were not worth fighting over.
The two terrified prisoners were pushed toward the open car doors held by Cobblepot's men.
The Penguin stepped closer, smiling as he whispered something in their ears.
The prisoners' expressions changed several times, then finally settled down.
"Tsk, that guy really has a way with people." Jay watched Cobblepot's performance, then nudged Wilson. "You were right. Fish Mooney didn't dare make a move. I thought the willful woman would be harder to deal with."
"Why would she? She's not immune to death. If it was just us two, maybe, but attacking the Roman's motorcade?" Wilson rubbed his hands. "Brother, pour me some of your tea. Gotta say, this seven thousand bucks was easy money."
"Don't say that! Damn it, every time you talk, I get a sudden anxious thump in my heart!"
Jay watched as Cobblepot walked over to Bob again.
The two men spoke in low voices for a while, and Bob kept shaking his head. Cobblepot's smile didn't falter, and he bent lower at the waist, pulling out his phone, dialing a number, and handing it over.
Bob respectfully took the call, nodding and bowing. After saying a few words, he hung up, looked around, and strode towards Jay.
"It's over!"
Wilson looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Cobblepot is the Roman's representative. Only three things can make Bob refuse the Roman: his head, his wallet, or being framed. Falcone wouldn't want his life or his money, so the old fatty is preparing to use us as scapegoats."
Jay took a deep breath, watching Bob approach with an overly enthusiastic embrace.
"Kids, you did a wonderful job. I want to express my…"
"Don't hug me, your coat is covered in ash. If there's nothing else, we're going back to the office."
"Ah… haha, no problem, everything's fine." He leaned in and whispered, "The Roman demands we send people to escort them to the family manor in the Upper West Side."
"Are you out of your mind?" Jay's mouth twitched, and he narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Bob. "Openly escorting the mob? Go ahead and get yourself killed and famous, but don't drag me into it."
"Hey, it's not that serious. I've figured it out. I'll assign you a patrol route. You just follow behind. Both sides will keep their distance and not interfere. Anyway, your car doesn't have the Gotham PD logo painted on it."
Bob pulled out a handkerchief and wiped non-existent sweat. "Damn it, that little penguin-like bastard made me talk directly to Falcone… Mr. Falcone. Honestly, I didn't have the courage to refuse."
"Shit! Then we're just cannon fodder scouting the route!" Wilson also rushed over. "You agreed to this yourself; you go do it!"
"Hey, you can't do this," Bob's face was pale blue from the cold wind. He looked up at the two. "We agreed on a price."
"That was for bringing the man back from HQ. Our job is done." Wilson sneered. "You haven't even paid us yet!"
"I will pay, I will pay." Bob muttered nervously, angrily exhaling a smoke ring, then turned to Jay. "Jay, if this gets messed up, we're all screwed. Think about Turner. I don't want to die silently in an alley like him, and I don't think you do either, right, huh?"
"You're right," Jay nodded. "But this job is too risky and the payoff is too low, so…"
He looked down, staring at Bob.
"We need more money!"
Bob's face instantly changed from pale to an angry purplish-brown.
Jay was afraid his blood pressure would explode through his skull and shoot up to the third floor.
"Stop dreaming, kid! We already agreed on a price. You people have no sense of contract… What? Not cash?"
Bob's cursing stopped abruptly. His eyes swiveled, looking suspiciously at Jay.
"Then what do you want?"
"A promotion, the authority to establish an independent 4-6 person squad or temporary task force, the right to independently requisition weapons and equipment, and… some other things I haven't thought of yet."
Jay counted on his fingers. "And you won't lose out. When the benefits come later, you'll get your share."
"These aren't major issues. Your promotion to Patrolman II has already been approved. Moving up is easy; we can organize an assessment next month.
But Lieutenant… your seniority is too short; you need at least one year of service." Bob pondered, smoke huffing out of his nostrils. "Everything else is manageable… Wait, you're not planning to cause some big trouble, are you?"
"Think about how much you got from the negotiation table. If you want to get more next time, we need to increase our bargaining chips." Jay again leaned close to Bob's ear and whispered, "If Falcone thinks we are worthless, he won't offer us much in the way of thanks or inducement."
"Bastard, why do I always feel like you make sense." Bob nodded. "Fine, we'll do it. When you get back, then…"
"If I come back alive, then we'll talk." Jay quickly interrupted Bob's attempt to jinx him. "Right now, I need to talk to Cobblepot."
——————
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