After their discussion, Cobblepot was set to wait for the attackers to come to him, Gordon went to check for any unusual activity among parolees and high-risk ex-convicts in police records, and Jay was responsible for…
"You're going to see other informants? May I ask what kind of…?"
"None whatsoever. I was just giving him a line." Jay slammed on the brakes. "That guy will not only check convicts, but he'll re-investigate the vault crime scene, sweep all of Gotham's black markets, and look into all known violent gangs."
"I'm not interested and don't have the energy to humor him. That work might have a confusing effect, but it won't yield any actual leads. Alright, this is your stop. Get out!"
"Thank you!"
Cobblepot scrambled out of the car, then turned back, lowered his head, and smiled. "Jay, won't you come in for a drink?"
"Next time. By the way, tell your men to be careful. You never know if those robbers might kill someone to establish authority before they come for you. And think about what you should prepare."
Cobblepot's face paled, though since he was already quite fair-skinned, it wasn't too noticeable.
"Okay, I understand. I will be careful."
Jay turned the car around and drove straight for the Tax Building in the Municipal Plaza.
After arriving. He shrunk his body as much as possible, tiptoeing through rows of cubicles until he reached Erica Hale's desk, where he greeted her in a whisper.
"Hi, Ms. Hale. I'm sorry I'm a few days late."
"If apologies worked, many people wouldn't receive tax penalties," Hale looked at Jay over the top of her glasses. "The police should understand that logic well."
She checked her wristwatch. "Lunch is in fifteen minutes. Please wait at the front desk. And…" She nudged the large box under her desk with her foot. "Please carry this out yourself."
"O-okay."
Jay felt his authority completely suppressed. He sheepishly picked up the box and tip-toed away from the work area like a scolded child.
It wasn't until he sat down on the waiting bench near the reception desk that he suddenly realized:
"Wait, I'm the one paying the bill here!"
The moment the noon bell rang, Jay calculated her walking speed. Erica Hale appeared in his line of sight almost precisely on time.
He picked up the box and walked toward her.
"Ms. Hale, to apologize for taking up your time, let me treat you to lunch. And, incidentally…"
He gently patted the box.
Hale concentrated for two seconds, then nodded. "Very well. There's a Sunflower Bistro, a Mediterranean restaurant, not far from here. Not too crowded, pleasant atmosphere, and no reservation needed. Will that suffice?"
"Ah? Oh, yes, of course. Anything is fine."
Hale wore soft, flat leather shoes, making almost no sound as she walked.
Jay, carrying the box, followed closely behind her, looking like Wilson's ancestor from many years ago.
They crossed the plaza and arrived at an unassuming little restaurant. A simple serif sign hung above the entrance. Warm-toned stucco walls, dark wooden floors, linen tablecloths on the tables, and a small basket of bread and olive oil bottles were placed inside.
There were only three or four scattered tables of guests. The owner led them to a table, and Hale simply glanced at the menu before handing it to Jay.
"No alcohol, a Caprese salad, and grilled salmon."
She used her fingertip to adjust the slightly crooked knife and fork, placing them perfectly parallel, then asked Jay, who was staring at the menu with a look of agony: "Are you ready? Captain, we should begin."
"Ah! Oh, oh, yes, ready!"
Jay had never eaten at this kind of restaurant before, and his eyes nearly popped out when he saw the prices next to the items.
Since he couldn't find anything familiar like a burger, he quickly ordered two dishes and sat upright, ignoring the owner's strange gaze as he left.
"Alright, Ms. Hale, what can you tell me about these files?"
"I have organized all the documents by category, color-coded with specific labels and ties."
Erica Hale reached into the top of the box and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
"This is a summary of the situation. If these files are from CPS (Child Protection Services), then their accounts certainly have significant issues. However, I am not a police officer, so I cannot determine if this is related to child trafficking."
She traced the text with her finger. "Firstly, their accounts show large, periodic donations. I traced the sources of these donations, which all came from shell corporations registered in places like the Cayman Islands or Seychelles.
Secondly, they have large, peculiar shipping expenditures, priced several times higher than conventional goods, but declared as common daily necessities…"
"…"
"…In short, the cash flow does not match the products or the declared business at all. Furthermore, a lot of the outgoing funds were directed into the personal accounts of CPS staff and government officials.
If you can obtain the public reports from CPS and cross-reference the dates, you should find more anomalies."
"Ah… uh… oh…!"
One technical term after another hit Jay's mind like rubber bullets, making him feel as though he were possessed by Wilson.
By the end of it, he could only barely formulate one sentence:
The accounts are compromised!
That was enough.
He watched Hale finish her presentation, quickly took the summary sheet, and carefully put it back in the box.
"Thank you, Ms. Hale. I've truly taken up too much of your time. Let's just… eat."
Erica Hale nodded, watching the owner place three bowls of soup in front of Jay.
"What the hell are these?" Jay looked at the array in front of him, then at the grilled fish and salad placed before Hale.
"Your order, sir, and one soup is complimentary."
This is a disaster!
Jay watched helplessly as Erica Hale calmly ate her low-fat, healthy lunch—complete with authentic buffalo mozzarella—while he could only sit across from her loudly slurping soup, one of which was his most hated mushroom seafood flavor.
What? Don't drink it?
The two of them spent one hundred and twelve dollars, not including the tip. You expect me not to drink it?
I'm scraping the bottom of the bowl!
The result was that until he returned to the precinct, his stomach churned and sloshed like Gotham Harbor. He dropped the box at his feet, lay back in his chair, and let out a long sigh.
"Phew… Burp!"
Allen peeked his head through the doorway. "Captain!"
"Uh… Oh!" Jay sat up and waved him in. "I wasn't asleep. What is it? How was the day?"
"Anna went on patrol. I had Otis go with her, but I was worried about something going wrong with those two, so I had Commander Wilson accompany them."
"Commander my ass. You're a Grade II Officer now, you're his equal," Jay said lazily. "He went… fine. Wilson won't cause any major trouble when it counts. Anything going on at the precinct?"
"Chief Bob went to visit Steven's family. Those dismemberment cases are still being argued over with Central Precinct. Inglis Jewelry found a few valuable pieces of jewelry missing… Everything else was minor fights, pickpocketing, that sort of thing."
"Hmm," Jay nodded, handing the box to Allen. "Keep this box of materials safe. Give the summary sheet on top to the boss later and see what he says."
…
Click.
Erica Hale walked into her apartment and closed the door. She reached for the light switch, when suddenly, a low, hoarse voice sounded from the darkness inside the room.
"You shouldn't help the enemies of the Court."
"Hmm."
Hale replied nonchalantly and hit the light switch.
The soft light flooded the entire room. Sitting on the living room sofa was a man in an expensive suit and a silver-white mask. In the shadow behind him stood a cold statue, its face covered by the metal spectacle mask she knew all too well.
Hale acted as if she hadn't seen them, placing her briefcase on the cabinet by the door and carefully adjusting the position of the strap.
She then took off her coat and hung it perfectly on the coat rack.
The man on the sofa was clearly impatient with her attitude. He cleared his throat, his voice laced with anxiety.
"Ms. Hale, the CPS documents you recently audited involve an area you shouldn't delve into. The work you did for that police officer harms the interests of the Court.
The Court expects you to forget everything you saw and terminate all cooperation with the Gotham Police Department."
Erica Hale's gaze finally turned toward them. She looked at their faces, then down at their feet. On the grayish-white cashmere rug, there was a visible trail of dirty footprints.
"You've ruined my carpet."
"Did you not hear what I said? You should know that the will of the Court is not a request."
The man, perhaps feeling ignored, suddenly became agitated. "You know the cost of refusal."
As he spoke, the statue behind him leaped toward Hale like lightning. A feather-shaped dagger in its fingers gleamed under the light.
The two figures flashed past each other in a blur. The Talon stumbled two steps forward and fell to his knees, a stream of blood uncontrollably pouring from between the fingers clamped over his throat.
Hale pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, carefully wiped the blood off her hairpin, and reinserted it into her bun. She walked over to the stunned Court member and gently placed the used handkerchief on his trembling knee.
"I no longer wish to spread my wings. I am merely a regular tax auditor now."
"I will also not provide that police officer with any assistance outside of my professional duties, but you had better get out of my sight and stop bothering me."
"You ruined my curtains and stained my carpet." She turned back to look; the Talon was lying there, the blood from his throat silently staining the floor red.
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes, once focused only on numbers, now flickering with the deep light of someone who had survived countless dark nights.
"You know my accounts. Now take this garbage and get out of my apartment. You might still be able to save him."
The man scrambled up, practically crawling, not daring to look at his companion on the floor. He stumbled out the door and disappeared down the stairs.
"Idiot."
Erica Hale shook her head, walked to the phone, and dialed a number.
"Hello? Maintenance? I need to deal with some… large discarded items. Yes, tonight."
She hung up the phone with a soft sigh. The sound was as light as a feather falling, quickly dissipating into the re-established silence of the apartment.
——————
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