As a new Gothamite, you’re pretty sure there’s only two rules here.
1. Keep your head down.
2. Don’t piss off anyone.
For all you know, anyone could be a gangster, or a mob boss, or someone who’s back this is the last straw for. Oh, and one more,
1. Don’t forget your weapon.
As a detective, this is maybe the most important to you. Sketchy cases could lead to hands-on investigations. Hands-on investigations could lead to angry people with knives. Or guns. Guns are definitely worse. Heavens knows what Greg was thinking when he went into an abandoned warehouse without his holster on. Alone.
With your boss already breathing down your neck, it might not be a good idea to take a month off for recovery. This week’s case rested in the folds of your jacket. Some might call it cheap, but you preferred the term well-loved. The fleece-lined insides of it were perfectly paired with the waterproof outside, making it-
Splash.
…
Well shit.
The puddle’s splatter disrupted your thoughts, spreading droplets of cold water above your ankles, letting the chill seep into your socks.
Ugh.
Should’ve worn boots.
~~~
The files rest on your desk, contrasting with the rich oak beneath them. Your mug of cheap, watered - down coffee is not there for pleasure, but necessity. Covered in neon yellow and pink, it reads in cheery lettering ‘Work is life and life is work :)’. You shudder. Who even wrote that? You come to the important realization that the caffeine held inside is the only thing keeping you from lobbing the hideous mug out the window. Nevermind. You look over the paper, confirming what you already know.
-_-_-
Name:
Stacy Grace Lewingheiser
Gender:
F
Eye color:
Blue
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Hair color:
Blonde
Address:
3466 Junior Avenue
Status:
Missing
Last seen:
3466 Junior Avenue, storming out of the side door after an argument with father.
Emergency contacts:
Father - Ryan Lewingheiser
+1(312)-878-7098
Mother - Britney Lewingheiser
+1(523)-805-2622
-_-_-
For the second time today, you were pulled out of your thoughts abruptly.
“Hey”
“Hello?”
Your vision clears, though admittedly slow.
“Hey you. Yeah, you. Rookie, I’m talking to ya.”
Jeff’s heavy brooklyn accent pairs well with the heavy smell of smoke that follows him everywhere. A thick, scarred, hand passes through your line of sight. Coughing slightly, you come to your senses.
“Ay! Cover your mouth. We got enuf diseases around here” the last part is muffled, as if whispered.
“What? What do you want?”
He scoffs harshly.
“Showin’ attitude already? I’m startin’ to wonder why you got hired, Rook’.”
Jeff is a heavily built man with an unruly black mustache that rivals a bird’s nest. Stifling a small laugh, the brief thought that his baldness was caused by his ‘stache stealing the hair passes through your head. You harden your face.
‘Emotions are a weakness, darling.’
‘Yes mother’
However, you need to get on with it.
“Did you disturb my work just to annoy me?”
“Rookie, I ain’t that much of an ass.”
Ah, the sweet, sweet, smell of cigarette smoke assaults your face. Lovely.
“Gordan wants you.”
At the sight of your concerned face, he quickly tacks on, “Says it has somethin’ to do with the bats.”
You shoot him a skeptical glance.
“Why you lookin’ at me like I would know, Rook’?”
Sigh.
“I’m sorry! You know I don’t hear jack around here kid, and-”
“Tell him I’ll be up in a few.”
Jeff nods, then turns to leave.His heavy footsteps hit the floor, barely covered up by the humdrum of the office. As you tidy your papers, you let your thoughts off into a peaceful drift.
The bats, huh? There was Batman, of course; all black, capes, mystery, ‘I won’t kill you, but your hospital bills will make you wish I did’ kinda guy. Then, there’s the seemingly endless supply of Robins. First was good. Original. Charismatic. The second, still good. (Who are you kidding, you think they’re all good.) The third, however, now that was a Robin. He could actually keep up intellectually. The current, ehh… good. But a little moody. You mean, like, the sword is awesome and all, but personality wise, just eh. Batgirl? Great! Just kind of a shame that she doesn’t show up anymore…
You let the thoughts about your childhood (and current) obsession continue stewing, thinking about all the different “Bat-family” members. You’re well over halfway to Gordan’s office by now, speed walking through the crowded spaces. It is getting better, but sometimes you still have to repress a shudder when someone knocks into you. The fear that muscle memory will kick in is always there. Sadly, your socks are still sopping, making every step somewhat miserable.
Knock knock.
Your scarred knuckles rap against the aged door.
“Come in.”