Chapter Text
It started with a civilian walking in the GCPD headquarters with a tip.
They are supposed to take every civilian tip off seriously, but it’s been a long time since people bothered to come in. Some officers, like Jim himself, still record civilian tips, though he doesn't know of any that have paid off.
And based on this man’s impassioned rantings about a huge bat monster, Jim doubts that this tip will lead to anything other than a cautionary tale about drinking too much.
“It was huge, just fucking massive! It came outta nowhere, outta the shadows and just about knocks me out with one punch!” Said the man angrily. He uppercutted the air over Jim’s desk to demonstrate.
“Can I record your name Mr…?” Jim asked, impatient despite himself. He had been trying to work on his human trafficking case before the man had interrupted.
“Penn, I’m Mike Penn. You guys have to do something about this, there’s a devil on the streets-”
“What were you doing when you saw this… thing, Mr. Penn?” Based on the alcohol that Jim could smell across the desk, and the black eye, Jim had a pretty good idea already.
“Well, I –” Penn suddenly looked rather sheepish, “I was on my way home from the bar, and I saw someone walking by themselves, and I… I pulled a knife and tried to take their wallet.”
“You pulled – are you here to confess to a mugging?” Jim asked incredulously.
“Of course not, don’t be stupid,” Penn said, suddenly agitated again, “I didn’t fucking steal anything because this goddamned bat-monster came down and just about killed me before I could! It was 8 feet tall, with huge wings and pointy ears, and–”
Jim looked at the man over his glasses as he continued raving. Though the black eye was very impressive, he was able to gesticulate a lot for a man who claimed to have nearly died the previous night.
“Sir, did the bat-monster attack the person you were mugging?” Jim interrupted.
“What? No, they ran off. I’m the one who got their face punched in!” He pointed at his swollen eye for emphasis.
“Right,” said Jim wryly, as looked back at the computer to finish typing.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened to Mr. Penn the night before. After a night of heavy drinking, he had decided to cushion his bar tab with someone else’s money, and was too inebriated to see the person who clocked him, whether it was a particularly heroic civilian or his would-be victim.
Jim finished writing the report, including the detail description of the 8-foot tall Bat-thing, and got Penn a drink of water. He helped him walk to the front doors; there was no point in arresting him for the attempted mugging, as he apparently hadn’t taken anything. Besides, the GCPD was far too busy to write a report for a crime that hadn't happened.
“Don’t let us here about you mugging anyone else.” Jim threatened, though even he could tell it was missing his usual heat. Penn looked at him like he was stupid.
“Of course I won’t be mugging anyone, there’s a fucking monster out there!” Penn snapped as he staggered out of the building.
Jim took a deep, calming breath, and returned to his office; to his current case. He expected that to be the last he heard of a bat-demon terrorizing the criminals of Gotham.
Jim was very wrong.
It continued to happen. A squad attempted a drug bust only to find all the suspects unconscious and tied up. A rape case was called in, and the police arrived to see the described suspect with a broken nose, hanging upside down from a street light. Harvey Bullock had been negotiating with the mobs for weeks to get permission to interrupt an artillery import, only to arrive at the scene to see everyone tied up, all evidence untouched.
(Later, Bullock told Jim, “That was supposed to one of Maroni’s shipments. Whoever is doing this is playing a dangerous game if they’re ballsy enough to play around with him. He’s not happy.")
Most of the criminals hadn’t seen the person who had attacked and bound them, but those who had reported similar things.
Sometimes it was a huge monster with wings, who grabbed them and flew into the air before knocking them out. Sometimes it was a shadow demon with the strength of 50 men who moved impossibly fast. Jim convinced about the flight or the speed, but the sizeable bruises that the culprits wore spoke for themselves; the assortment of black eyes, bruised jaws, fractured arms, and broken noses was more than enough proof for him.
Jim had listened to Bullock interrogate one of the arms dealers about what had been able to take down all 14 people involved in the deal.
“It was some kind of Bat-man hybrid thing, with the wings and ears and everything. It came from nowhere and took everyone out, one by one. I tried to shoot at it, but it knocked the gun out of my hand” Her voice had trembled as she spoke.
“Did it say anything?” Bullock had asked, exasperated.
“No. I don’t think it can speak. Or maybe it just has nothing so say.”
Jim couldn’t remember a time when the GCPD hadn’t been divided. Bad and good, corrupt and honest, lazy and hardworking. They were unsurprisingly equally split on their opinions of the Batman of Gotham.
Some, (mostly the lazy and corrupt, Jim noted) thought the whole ordeal is hilarious. Remarks like, “He’s doing our job for us, we might as well give it a badge and go home!” and “I’m going home early; Bat Demon has got my shift covered,” were fairly common in the department building.
The majority were paranoid and scared. They feared that the Batman was a new player on the board that was already stacked with too many mobs. He was a hitman hired to either lure the police into a false sense of security before an attack, or a weapon from one of the mobs who was spending his downtime by beating up people for fun. Jim figured that they were likely scared that the Batman would turn his sights inward and start attacking them for their illegal activities.
Few, like Sarah Lopez, a fellow detective, were just angry at having to deal with a vigilante on top of all the normal Gotham crime.
“As if we didn’t have enough to deal with,” she told Jim over lunch one day. “I have to investigate this robbery AND look out for a vigilante.”
“We haven’t gotten any instructions to take Batman down,” Jim pointed out mildly, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“Stop calling him Batman like’s he’s your friend.” She said, narrowing her eyes. He raised his hands in surrender, trying to keep the smirk off his face. They had had this conversation many times in the two weeks since the Batman’s first encounter.
“We would have a whole team looking for him if we had a commissioner who actually gave a shit,” she muttered fiercely as she stabbed at her pasta. “We’ve got no one looking for clues, no one talking to witnesses–”
Jim knew that she was right. Someone with such obvious disregard for the law shouldn’t be allowed free reign to beat up anyone they saw fit. And the fear that the Batman really was just new hitman for the mob was a dangerous possibility that he didn't take lightly.
Still, Jim couldn’t help but admit that it was a welcome change of pace; that the person breaking the law was, paradoxically, on their side for once.
“I don’t like it either, but he has been helpful,’ he said.
“Oh whose side are you on?” she asked bitterly, glaring at him. Jim stared back.
“Sarah. I obviously don’t want a violent vigilante running around Gotham beating up everyone,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her, “But even you’ve got to admit it’s been a nice week.”
It had been a relatively relaxing week, by Gotham standards. Criminals being left incapacitated at the scene of the crime, surrounded by untampered evidence, had given the GCPD a much-needed relief from their heavy and chaotic workload. And when Jim had looked into the number of crimes reported, and though the sample size was small, he had been unsurprised to find that their numbers were below average.
They were still higher than most of the country, but it was something.
“That’s not the point Jim! What happens when he murders someone? We can’t just let this civilian running around doing whatever he wants! And we have no evidence! We’ll be so behind when he does fuck up, and-”
Jim furrowed his eyebrows at her, truly frustrated for the first time in the conversation.
“I don’t need a lecture on the law,’ he said shortly. She sighed, and rubbed her temple.
“I’m sorry, I know. I just–” she trailed off.
“It’s fine,” Jim said, taking another bite of his sandwich. They were both on edge, with the vigilante running around unchecked. They, like most of the GCPD, were waiting for the ball to drop and take Gotham with it. And Sarah had always been very passionate about the letter of the law, even at the best of times.
They all coped with Gotham in different ways.
“Your case not going well?” Jim asked, to change the subject.
“No,” Sarah said as she rolled her eyes. “The chemical company is being ridiculous. I’m assuming it’s because they don’t want me sniffing around and finding out what illegal shit they’ve been doing, but how I’m supposed to find who stole their shipment when they won’t even tell me what was in the shipment is the real goddamn mystery,” she huffed.
“What about yours?” she asked, after a short pause. Jim exhaled through his teeth slowly.
“It was reassigned to Tolbert yesterday,” Jim muttered.
She looked up sharply, her fork halfway to her mouth. “The human trafficking one?”
Jim nodded slowly, taking another careful bite of his sandwich.
“Fuck.” She looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry Jim.”
It was well known that there were certain officers, not that they deserved the title, who were middlemen for the mob. If your case was assigned to them, you could bet that it was connected to the mob’s activities. The ‘officers’ would botch the case, destroy evidence and erase records, so that any ties to illegal activity connecting the case to the mob were gone. Disobeying orders and continuing to work on your case was endangering your life.
Jim had only risked it a few times.
The most recent being a few years ago, when Jim had been working on a serial killer case with Renee Montoya. After she discovered that the killer was working for Falcone, she was told that the case had been reassigned. She had refused to let her it slip through the cracks to be forgotten. Taking out a feared hitman for the biggest mob in Gotham was too big a catch to throw away.
Though she had gotten the killer/hitman convicted, she had had to flee Gotham with her girlfriend before Falcone could have her killed for interfering.
So as much as Jim wanted ignore orders, solve his human trafficking case and take the criminals off the street, he knew full well the danger of resistance. It wasn’t just his life he’d be risking, but Barbara’s, and anyone else that he might have helped in the future. He had to think that it was better to keep his job, and his life, so he could solve other cases. At least by gritting his teeth and laying low he could still help some people, and keep Barbara out of the mob’s sights.
He was more useful to Gotham alive, working on cases, that he was if he died as a martyr for one investigation and leaving behind countless future cases unsolved.
This thought didn’t make him hate himself any less when he had to abandon cases, or help him sleep at night, but it kept him going to work in the mornings.
(And if he keeps collecting evidence, working with Bullock and Sarah to keep tabs on mob activities in secret, waiting for a chance to use them, no one needs to know.)
“There are other crimes that need solving,” he finally said, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Sarah pursed her lips, frustrated, but nodded.
Knowing Gotham, it wouldn’t be long until he was knee deep in another case.
“Well, you’ll let me know if you find anything about the vigilante?” She asked, starting to get up from the table.
“Course,” he said, smiling at her.
She met his gaze with a small smile of her own, and went back to her office.
A few minutes later, he followed suit, and went back to work.