What to eat for lunch? That was a difficult question.
It was lunchtime when he left the Chief's office. He was a man with over ten thousand dollars in his pocket, so he should at least eat something decent…
Decent, my foot! After taxes, ten thousand immediately became six thousand.
He still needed to be thrifty.
Jay sighed over the "gourmet desert" of America, on his way to the police station cafeteria to buy a frozen pizza.
The moment he stepped into the main hall, an unusual silence gripped him. Dozens of eyes turned to focus on him, and then someone started to applaud.
Then came the second, the third… Gradually, the sparse applause converged into a stream that wasn't overly enthusiastic.
Sergeant Albert stood up and extended his hand to Jay. "Thank you. I think all the officers in Gotham City will thank you for this fund."
"Huh?" Jay was startled. "You… you already know?"
"Gossip always travels faster than the radio," Albert smiled. "It's not about the money; it represents you belonging to us—a true member."
You say I belong to you now? Great, so I've been working here for half a year for nothing?!
He looked left and right. Most of the people applauding were older officers. Clearly, self-interest was what mattered most.
However, Jay didn't intend to say much. He just smiled and walked past.
Just then, the dispatcher's listless voice crackled out.
"Jay, remember you have a domestic violence follow-up visit. The Domestic Violence Quick Response Unit, huh?"
"Me?" Jay thought for a moment. "I went to 15th Avenue before. That case is resolved."
"Not that one, it's the one you responded to in the Narrows previously. Pinnock Street. The little girl called a few days ago looking for you, but you were still in the hospital then."
"Oh, got it." Jay flipped through his notebook. This was work his predecessor had done. It contained only a few sparse lines about a domestic abuser named Marcus, with hardly a word about the victim.
He shoved the notebook back in frustration. "I'll check it out this afternoon."
After reluctantly finishing his unpleasant lunch, he slipped out to the patrol car to try and catch a nap. He was woken up less than half an hour later by a call from Bob.
"Your partners have arrived. I think you… you'd better come look for yourself in my office."
Bob sounded very strained.
Jay's heart sank. He didn't send me a couple of trouble magnets, did he?
His sleepiness vanished instantly. He ran into the Chief's office in three quick strides.
Bob was still sitting behind his large desk. Two young police officers in uniform were seated across from him.
Uh…
He understood what Bob meant now.
One was a neat, glasses-wearing male officer.
He was fair-skinned and delicate, looking like the kind of good student who always got high scores in school.
He would thrive in a library, perhaps, but certainly didn't look like frontline material.
The other was a tall young woman.
Aside from a few light freckles, her face was a mix of innocence and pristine idiocy.
She looked like the kind of naïve girl fresh out of college who would be running helter-skelter, coffee in hand, files tucked under her arm, trying to keep up with a domineering CEO.
Sending these two out onto the streets would have the local thugs popping champagne…
"Take a look!"
Bob snatched two printed sheets from beside the ashtray and hurled them at Jay like darts. "They're all… top students."
"Allen… Wiggins?"
The male officer quickly raised his hand and stood up with a whoosh.
Sure enough, this guy scored A+ in all his theoretical courses at the academy, but combat, vehicle pursuit, practical shooting, and other hands-on subjects were mostly average.
"He's a desk worker…" Jay muttered, picking up the other transcript. "Anna Ramirez?"
"Yes, Sir!" Anna raised her hand cheerfully, even swirling her wrist in the air.
Her scores were more balanced, mostly concentrated in B+ or A-.
Jay turned to Bob. "How many do I keep?"
"Up to you. One or two, whatever works. We're short-handed anyway, and these are considered good students."
Bob held back for a long time before finally giving in and lighting a cigarette.
Through the smoke, he nodded towards the two rookies. "This is Officer Jay, Second Grade. He will be responsible for your training from now on."
Tsk tsk… I was a rookie myself just a few months ago.
Jay smacked his lips and looked at their eyes. "I have only one question. Which of you has experience firing at a suspect? Missing or not killing them still counts."
He watched their reactions.
Allen's face visibly paled, his Adam's apple bobbing. In the end, he straightened his posture, his voice slightly trembling but clear: "Report, Sir! None!"
Anna involuntarily showed a hint of fear, but also raised her hand, replying: "None, Sir!"
Damn it. I've officially become a Scout leader.
But then again, he himself had slowly been honed into shape. What if they had potential?
"Fine, I'll take them out to a scene first." Jay sighed.
Damn Domestic Violence Quick Response Unit? Huh?
The three squeezed into Jay's old patrol car, a Crown Victoria. He put Allen in the driver's seat and relegated Anna to the back.
"You two are fine with shooting, right? I see your marksmanship scores are decent."
"N-no problem."
Allen answered, turning the key, stepping on the clutch, and shifting the gear. The police car juddered and stalled immediately.
"Don't be nervous. I'll turn my head and not look at you." Jay looked at the sweat rolling down Allen's forehead, then turned to Anna. "How many days have you been at the precinct?"
"Three days, Sir! We heard about your heroic deeds and even listened to your speech this morning, Sir!"
Anna gripped her seatbelt, excitedly shouting, "Allen and I both think you should be in Homicide, not on patrol… Of course, you're the best at patrolling too! Sir!"
Uh… is this what Clark felt like when facing a compliment storm? Jay scratched his head and gave an awkward laugh.
"I just happened to take out a few terrorists, I'm not the President of the United States." He secretly glanced at Allen. The car was now smoothly turning onto a less-trafficked avenue.
"In my opinion, there doesn't seem to be much difference between them," Anna said, stroking a strand of her hair. "I thought a cop's daily life was all exciting!"
"As you wish," Jay felt a shiver of dread. Why didn't I notice this girl was a chatterbox? "The place we're going today isn't much safer than Afghanistan."
His words were true. The Narrows was a peculiar part of Gotham. Surrounded by water on several sides, its terrain was different from other districts, even its slums.
If other slums hid cunning hyenas in their shadows, the Narrows—perhaps because Arkham Asylum and the Old Prison were located there—was saturated with thugs.
All sorts of deranged practitioners of abstract mayhem emerged constantly.
Damn it, can't these guys find somewhere to self-destruct?
He gripped his M870 shotgun.
The Narrows was not only dirtier but colder than other places. Entire blocks seemed to be fractured and crumbling under the frigid wind.
But walls, intersections, and corners were still littered with deranged addicts, high beyond self-control.
These people could pounce without warning, and while they might not always be aggressive, Jay wasn't willing to gamble.
Jay glanced at the apartment building in front of him.
It was even more dilapidated than the one Waylon lived in. Due to constant immersion in smog and industrial acid rain, the building was covered in precarious cracks and multi-colored mold, looking like it could fall apart at any moment.
He sighed, signaled the two rookies to follow, and walked inside.
The stairwell reeked of stale urine and a kind of indescribable cloyingly sweet decay. The wooden stairs were rotten and warped, groaning with a teeth-grinding creak underfoot.
The three carefully climbed to the third floor. Their footsteps were jarringly loud in the deathly silence.
Wah ha ha ha!
A sharp, twisted burst of maniacal laughter erupted without warning from a dark corner of the hallway. A figure, withered like a skeleton, lunged like a spring at Allen, who was closest to him.
"Ah!!"
"GCPD! Drop your weapon immediately! Or I will use—"
CRACK!
Jay viciously smashed the man's neck with his shotgun stock. The man instantly collapsed unconscious. The laughter was cut short, like a broken cassette tape.
"Nice one!"
He bent down to look. It was a middle-aged man in his fifties, clutching two syringes in his hand.
He looked up at the two officers. Anna's face was chalk-white, and her body was slightly trembling, seemingly still shaken.
Besides screaming, she had drawn her taser, and a faint electric spark was still flickering at the muzzle.
However, the probes were twistedly stuck in the broken doorframe next to them.
Allen remained in a stance, aiming his gun. The safety on his 1911 was not disengaged, and his eyes were filled with fear and confusion.
"Splendid, both of you. It would have been even better if I hadn't had to intervene—Anna, under your cover, your teammate was successfully stabbed. The needle likely contains a deadly infectious virus.
Allen, as a model officer of the Gotham Police Department, you standardly executed the procedure and read the demands to the suspect. Oh, though you might die of an infectious disease afterward, you upheld the dignity of the law."
"S-sorry, Sir!"
"Thank you… Sir."
"Don't apologize to me. You didn't let me down. You let down your colleague, who almost died, and yourselves."
Jay stopped looking at them, turning and striding into the deeper, dark corridor.
But Allen called out from behind him.
"O-officer… he…" Seeing Jay turn back, Allen pointed at the unconscious assailant on the ground. "According to regulations, we… we… we should…"
"Yes, you're right," Jay stopped and nodded.
The blow with the shotgun stock was, of course, a violation and a dangerous move.
If Wilson had been here, they would have tacitly ignored the fate of this 'needle man,' as if nothing had happened.
"So, what now? Are you coming in with me, or are you going to stand there, follow procedure, and file a complaint with your superiors?"
With that, he turned and walked down the corridor to door 307. Jay tossed the Remington to Allen, and with one hand resting on his pistol, he knocked on the door.
Knock-knock.
The knocking sounded only twice. Before they could call out, the broken wooden door creaked open inward.
"Hi, Officer Jay."
A clear, childlike voice came from below.
He froze for a moment and looked down. Standing in the doorway was a little girl, barely reaching his waist. She wore a faded, old T-shirt, and her brown hair was tied back somewhat messily.
She looked up at him, her eyes calm.
"Uh…" Jay scratched his head, feeling a little guilty as he asked, "What's your name again?"
While his predecessor had handled the domestic violence case, he had only recorded the father as the perpetrator and hadn't paid much attention to the little girl's name.
"Sigh…"
The little girl pursed her lips, showing a disappointed expression, and waved her hand. "Never mind. You men are all the same, just like my brother, with no memory."
"Oh, man…"
Jay and the two rookies who had caught up exchanged glances, unsure how to reply.
He was silent for a few seconds, then crouched down to look at the little girl, trying to put on a serious expression.
"…Uh, I think you're right. How about you tell me again? I promise I won't forget this time."
"Hmph, a man's promise." The little girl sighed dramatically, then nodded. "Alright, Officer. I hope you remember this time. My name is Harper Row, and I'm six years old. This is my brother…"
She beckoned a boy about her age from inside the room. "…Cullen Row. If you can't remember our names, how can you truly protect us?"
"OK, I'll definitely remember this time." Jay waved at Cullen.
But the boy shyly hid his face behind the doorframe, only peeking out with one eye.
Jay turned back to Harper. "I heard you called us?"
Even crouched down, his massive frame was still much taller than the little girl. Harper tilted her head up and nodded seriously.
"Yes, Officer. I still need to report my father Marcus's domestic violence problem."
Jay frowned. "Is he still hitting you? We warned him!"
"Yes," Harper nodded hard, her messy brown hair shaking. "You warned him last time, but it only lasted a few days. Not only does he hit us, but he locks me and Cullen in the house and goes out drinking himself."
She pointed a finger at the doorknob. "I can figure out how to open the door, but I don't dare go out to find food. It seems… pretty dangerous out there… I heard you shout 'GCPD' just now…"
Jay looked back at Allen, then stood up and stepped around Harper, signaling the two rookies to stay alert. Jay walked slowly into the room with his hand resting on his gun.
Like nearly all slum rooms, it was filthy, chaotic, dilapidated, and damp. A stench of cheap alcohol and putrid vomit assaulted them.
The entire apartment was littered with empty liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and discarded trash bags, but the place was bare, with no food scraps left.
Marcus was nowhere to be found, of course.
As he led the two officers to check the room, Harper and her brother followed closely behind.
Seeing Jay's confusion, the older sister spoke up. "He went out drinking the night before last. He might come back in a day or two, maybe three or five days."
"How long…" Jay's gaze swept over the trash bags. "…have you two gone without food?"
"This morning," Harper pointed to a greasy pizza box in the corner. "We finished sharing the last bit of pizza crust and a few broken crackers."
She looked up, her large eyes watching Jay with unnatural calmness. "If you hadn't come today, we would have gone hungry."
Jay let out a breath through his nostrils, turned, strode out of the room, and gently pulled the door shut behind him, temporarily separating the two bewildered children from the outside.
"If this continues, they'll die in there."
"You're right," Allen nodded. "But even if we prosecute to strip their father of custody, it will take at least four or five days for Child Protective Services (CPS) to take over. But…"
"But they can't last four or five days," Jay finished the sentence. "We have to take them now. Right now."
"The procedure is manageable. Even if their father disagrees, we can certainly handle a drunkard." Anna seemed to be catching on, but still looked conflicted. "But where can we take them right now? Should I contact CPS?"
"Let's just get out of here first. Get them something to eat in the car," Jay replied.
CPS in Gotham could often be equated with government human traffickers. These two rookies probably didn't know how many children disappeared every year after being taken by CPS.
He returned to the room and asked Harper, "Do you want to come with us? Leave this place, and we'll take you somewhere else."
He expected to have to plead his case, but Harper quickly ran back inside. She pulled two small backpacks from under the bed, slung one over Cullen's shoulder, and held the other herself.
"All our things are here. Let's go, Officer."
Jay was surprised. He opened his mouth, then hesitantly asked, "Aren't you going to ask where I'm taking you?"
"Anywhere is fine," Harper sighed, a look of worry showing on her face for the first time. "It can't possibly be worse than this, right?"
Jay was silent. He took off his police jacket and wrapped it around her. The black outer garment dragged long on the floor.
He smacked his lips and softly chuckled, "Good afternoon, Pingu."
A muffled voice came from the collar: "Good afternoon, Officer."
Jay smiled, bent down, and picked up both children. He shouted toward the outside:
"Allen, grab two thicker coats from the car. Hurry up, we're leaving!"
——————
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