The iron gates of Falcone Manor opened slowly before the armored vehicle. Marco leaned forward in the passenger seat, surveying the courtyard through the reinforced windshield, and immediately knew something was wrong.
The number of guards had at least doubled since his last visit, maybe even tripled. They were everywhere.
"A few more visits like this and I should qualify for some kind of loyalty program," he muttered, then immediately regretted the joke when his bruised ribs protested the movement. He pressed a hand to his side and addressed Anna behind the wheel. "Be careful. Watch the car. Don't get out and cause trouble. I'm not sure how much sanity he has left."
"You sure about this?" Darnell asked from the back seat. "We could call for backup, and come back when things cool down."
"Things aren't going to cool down." Marco opened the door and climbed out slowly. "Just stay put. If shooting starts, get the hell out of here."
He slammed the door shut and started walking toward the manor's entrance. Every guard tracked his movement. None of them said a word. He kept his hands visible.
The front doors opened before he reached them. A house servant stepped aside without making eye contact.
"The Don is waiting in the reception hall, Captain Vitale."
Marco nodded and stepped inside.
---
The reception hall looked like a crime scene.
The elegant Tuscan aesthetic that had defined the space during Marco's last visit was still there but it had been violated. Dark red stains marked the carpet in several places.
Falcone wasn't sitting in his usual spot on the sofa. Instead, he stood before the massive stone fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, staring into flames. Zsasz leaned against the wall near the fireplace, idly spinning a small knife between his fingers. Several middle-aged men in expensive suits stood or sat around the periphery. And in the center of it all, held upright by two massive enforcers, was Cobblepot. His face was a swollen mess of purple bruises and split skin. Blood had dried in thick streams from his nose and mouth, staining his shirtfront. His suit was torn. One eye was swollen completely shut. The other cracked open slightly as Marco entered, showing a flicker of hope before dulling again.
"Captain Vitale," Falcone said. "Thank you for coming. Your timing is fortuitous."
"Don Falcone, looks like you've been busy."
"Busy uncovering treachery." Falcone gestured toward a television set positioned on a side table. A VCR beneath it was still running, frozen on a grainy image. "Come. Let me show you something interesting."
Marco walked closer, very aware of Zsasz's gaze tracking his movement.
Falcone pressed play on the remote.
The footage was from a security camera, judging by the angle and quality. It showed what looked like a vault. A group of men in skull masks were tearing the place apart. Guards fell one after another, blood spraying across tile. Then, near the end of the footage, a limping figure hobbled into frame and paused directly in front of the camera for a long moment before moving on.
He stopped the video, freezing on the limping man's silhouette.
"Do you see it, Captain?" He walked over to Cobblepot and grabbed a fistful of his sweat-soaked hair, forcing his mangled face up toward the screen. "Look at the way he walks. In all of Gotham, is there another prominent figure who walks like that?"
Cobblepot made a sound, but didn't try to speak.
Marco studied the frozen image for a long moment. "Could I take a closer look?"
Something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it yet, but his gut was screaming that this wasn't as simple as it looked.
Falcone fixed him with a stare. For several seconds, Marco thought he might refuse. Then Falcone gave a slight nod and tossed the remote toward him. Marco caught it and looked around the room. His eyes landed on a plush two-seater sofa where a heavy-set middle-aged capo was sitting, taking up most of the cushion. He walked over and gestured at the space beside him.
"Mind scooting over?"
The capo's expression darkened. Several other Falcone family members shifted. Marco ignored them completely, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and hitting rewind on the remote.
The VCR whirred as the tape spooled backward.
He watched the footage three times, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the timing of movements, the positioning, and the way the limping figure seemed to linger at certain angles. When the tape ended for the third time, he set down the remote and looked at Falcone.
"With all due respect, I think this footage has some problems."
"Go on." Falcone sat down on his usual sofa. "Explain."
Marco rewound to one of the moments he'd noted and hit play.
"Look here." He pointed at the screen. "See how the limping guy pauses? He's not checking corners or watching for threats. He's just stopping, for one or two seconds at a time, like he's making sure the camera gets a good look at him."
He fast-forwarded to another timestamp.
"And here. Same thing. He walks directly into the camera's field of view, pauses, then moves on. That's not how people move when they're committing a crime. That's how people move when they want to be identified."
He hit pause and turned to face Falcone directly.
"If Cobblepot were really stupid enough to rob your vault, and let's assume for a moment he had both the balls and the ability to pull it off, would he be dumb enough not to hide his most obvious physical characteristic? And if he were truly that stupid, then his intelligence wouldn't be sufficient to plan and execute this kind of operation."
He rewound the tape one more time, showing the sequence of the guards being taken down.
"This was professional work. Cobblepot's smart, I'll give him that, but he's a businessman. He doesn't have the connections or experience to hire this kind of crew." He set down the remote. "Plus, according to police records, last night Cobblepot was at Robinson Park making a deal with Black Mask. We had eyes on him for most of the evening. He couldn't have been in two places at once."
The reception hall fell silent.
Falcone stared at Marco. Then his gaze shifted to the frozen image on the screen.
"You're suggesting someone set him up." It wasn't a question. "Who?"
"That's the interesting part. I've got a few questions. First: how much money did you lose? Second: how many people knew the location of this vault? Third: how many people knew Cobblepot's whereabouts last night?"
He ticked the points off on his fingers.
"Because if it were me planning this frame job, I wouldn't have chosen last night. The alibi is too solid. Which means either the person who did this didn't know about Cobblepot's meeting with Black Mask... Or they didn't care because the goal wasn't to pin it on him. Maybe the goal was just to create chaos, and sow distrust."
After a long silence, Falcone let out a soft grunt.
"Fewer than ten people knew the location of that vault. Are you telling me I have another mole? Someone who stole twelve million dollars and conveniently framed Cobblepot to cover their tracks?"
Twelve million?
Marco felt his eyebrow twitch. He'd been dealing with big numbers lately, but twelve million was still twelve million.
"Probably more than ten people knew. You heard about what happened at GCPD headquarters last night, right? We used to think that building was impregnable too."
"Yes." Falcone waved his hand, and the middle-aged capos immediately began filing out of the room. "I heard the police took heavy losses."
"A group of officers got pinned down in their own building by about a dozen attackers. They didn't even try to fight back." Marco shrugged. "Some of them might not have made it if Detective Gordon and I hadn't been at Arkham getting played ourselves."
Falcone studied him for a long moment, then gestured at the spot beside him on the sofa. Marco stood and moved over, settling into the leather.
"Has he lost his courage as well?" Falcone asked slowly.
"He was being jerked around at Arkham with me last night. And if he'd stayed at headquarters?" Marco shook his head. "He wouldn't have lost his courage. He would've lost his life. You can't expect the GCPD to sit back calmly all year and then suddenly go all-out the moment danger shows up. That's not how it works."
"No. I suppose not." Falcone's gaze drifted toward the fireplace. "First that bastard calling himself Batman. Then cultists. Now these violent robbers with no regard for the old rules..." He trailed off, then looked back at Marco. "What's happened to our city? Why has the peaceful and orderly Gotham I knew never returned?"
Peaceful? Orderly? Marco barely managed not to roll his eyes. What version of Gotham were you living in?
But he kept his expression neutral and gestured toward Cobblepot, who was still being held between the two enforcers.
"I don't know why things are changing. But from my experience, I do know that if he doesn't get to a hospital soon, he's not going to make it."
"Ah." Falcone blinked, as if suddenly remembering the bleeding man in his reception hall. "Yes. Of course." He stood and walked over to Cobblepot, bending down to examine his ruined face. Then, he brushed at the half-congealed blood at the corner of Cobblepot's mouth. "I apologize, Oswald. I acted hastily."
He turned back to Marco, and the mild, distant smile returned to his face.
"Would you be willing to take him to the hospital? As a personal favor to me?"
"Sure." Marco stood, walked over, and took Cobblepot from the two guards. He weighed more than he looked. Marco hoisted him up and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, ignoring the fresh stab of pain from his ribs. "But just so we're clear, whether he lives or dies isn't on me."
"Of course not." Falcone's smile widened slightly. "Thank you, Marco. You're a good man."
Marco started toward the door, then paused when Falcone spoke again.
"And as for those robbers, I'll deal with them in my own way."
Marco's steps hesitated for just a fraction of a second. Then he continued walking, carrying Cobblepot out of the reception hall, across the courtyard, and under the watchful eyes of two dozen armed guards back to the armored vehicle.
"What a pain in the ass," he muttered as he reached the car.
Anna opened the back door, and she and Darnell helped maneuver Cobblepot's unconscious body into the rear compartment. Marco climbed in after him.
"Drive to the hospital."
Anna started the engine and shifted into gear. The armored vehicle turned in a wide arc and rolled toward the gates, leaving Falcone Manor behind.
---
Inside the reception hall, Zsasz watched the vehicle disappear down the long driveway.
"Don," he said softly. "Does Cobblepot really have nothing to do with this?" He turned to look at Falcone. "If you give him to me, I'll make him tell the truth."
"No, Victor." Falcone settled back into his sofa. "I don't think it was him. Perhaps he had the thought, but not the nerve." He lit a cigar. "I was simply taking the opportunity to remind him of his place. I've heard he's been getting too friendly with the police lately, and Marco in particular." He took a long pull from the cigar. "Driving up here so brazenly in a police vehicle... The GCPD seems to have forgotten who this city belongs to."
Zsasz smiled.
"Want me to leave him a reminder?"
"No." Falcone exhaled smoke. "But keep an eye on him."
---
The armored vehicle bounced over the rough road leading away from the estate. Marco looked down at Cobblepot, who lay sprawled across the bench seat, and was startled to see one swollen eye crack open.
"Marco... Thank... you..."
"Don't thank me yet." Marco leaned down closer. "I want to know something first."
Cobblepot's visible eye focused on him with effort.
"Did you rob Falcone's vault?"
"N-no... I swear... by God I didn't—"
"Don't swear by God. I don't believe in God anymore. Swear on your mother's grave. Swear on your mother's name that it wasn't you."
But there was no answer.
In the rumble and sway of the armored vehicle, the light in Cobblepot's eye slowly faded, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.