Money stirred ambition

"Great work!"

Bob had showered him with praise all the way back, grinning so broadly he could barely close his mouth. The moment he entered his office, he clipped a cigar and took a blissful puff.

"That old bastard." He jabbed his cigar-holding hand at the air, as though poking an invisible opponent. "Falcone, that old fox, always thinks of that bastard Loeb first whenever there's money to be had. Ah..." A dense stream of smoke poured from his nostrils and the corner of his mouth, rising slowly through the lead-gray light coming through the window. "Jay, Jay... since when were you so good at giving presentations? You Chinese are all study maniacs. I used to think you only knew how to solve math problems."

"All right... boss, stop beating around the bush." Li Jie shifted in his chair. "What exactly do you want?"

"Emmm..."

An almost embarrassed look actually appeared on Bob's face. He avoided Li Jie's eyes, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the cigar's wrapper. "That fifty thousand Falcone gave you... how are you... planning to... to handle it..."

"Hey! Boss!" Li Jie sprang to his feet. "I thought you never touched death and disability benefits!"

"Oh, of course not, of course not!" Bob hastily waved his hand. "I've never touched the benefits required by regulations. But this... this is extra..."

"Don't even think about it. You aren't getting a cent. Not only that, I'm going to suggest you donate a few tens of thousands yourself."

"What!" Bob's face flushed red, and he slammed his palm onto the desk. "What the fuck did you just..."

The rest of his roar cut off abruptly. He suddenly shut his mouth, stood, and strode to the office door. He locked it with a click, lowered the blinds facing the outer office, then returned to Li Jie.

"All right, kid. What are you up to now? You wouldn't say something that stupid for no reason."

"I need to talk about something else first." Li Jie smiled, took a notebook from his pocket, opened it, and handed it to Bob. "I want to get someone out of Blackgate Penitentiary, and overturn his conviction while I'm at it."

"Hmm... let me see. Otis Flanagan? What use is this guy?" Bob leafed through the notebook suspiciously. "Is he a friend of yours?"

He skimmed a few pages, closed the notebook, and tossed it back onto the desk. "Getting him out isn't hard. Just send Blackgate Penitentiary a letter requesting his assistance with an investigation. Martin tends to agonize over what he stands to gain or lose, but he won't deliberately make things difficult for you. Overturning the conviction, though..."

Bob took a deep drag on his cigar, returned to his spacious executive chair, and sat down.

"You'll offend not just your colleagues in the department, but a federal court judge too. Are you sure it's worth it?"

"Sounds like a lot of trouble, right? Even you think so, never mind everyone else." Li Jie opened the notebook again and pushed it over, pointing to a few lines. "Otis has plenty of connections among... people at the bottom. He can get hold of a lot of information. If we pull this off, he'll be eternally grateful to us."

"A good informant? That does make him worth something." Bob muttered, taking the notebook and studying the passage Li Jie had pointed out. "Case officers: Detective Flack... Judge Anderson... Flack Robinson?"

He looked up and met Li Jie's eyes, then stood and parted the blinds to look into the main office. Behind a desk midway across the room marked Homicide Squad Two, a detective in his thirties was poring over something with his head down, licking his lips every so often.

"If it's this idiot, I'm not remotely surprised your friend got arrested to take the fall. That's exactly the sort of thing he'd do." He let the blinds fall and frowned in thought for a moment. "Joshua Anderson, a judge at Gotham Court. Retired three years ago. But this isn't as simple as you think."

"First, you need to find a prosecutor willing to stick his nose into other people's business, one who isn't even afraid of dying. Second, you'll be fighting the inertia of the entire judicial system." He blew out puff after puff of smoke, like a savage god breathing clouds, his gaze boring into Li Jie through the haze. "I can refuse to shield that idiot Fleck, but the rest... I don't think you can pull it off. And what does any of this have to do with that donation you mentioned?"

"Of course it's connected. You saw it yourself today: Central Headquarters picked up five hundred thousand without even trying. That's as much as the Eastern District Precinct makes in extra income in a whole year. And Falcone's regular annual payments to Central Headquarters are at least four times what he gives the Eastern District Precinct. What if you add the other Diamond District millionaires' donations for show?" Li Jie's voice was low and slightly hoarse. "Boss, why can't that money be yours?"

Those words struck like thunder, voicing a desire Bob had harbored for years but never dared speak aloud. His breathing instantly grew heavy. His clenched fists whitened at the knuckles, veins bulging across the backs of his hands. Only the faint hiss of the burning cigar and his labored breathing remained in the office. A long while passed before he murmured, without committing himself, "Go on!"

"Loeb's position comes down to support from the government and the officers, plus a respectable record of service and accomplishments." Li Jie nodded and continued. "The Families of Fallen and Injured Officers Fund-that amount of money usually wouldn't even register with the higher-ups."

At that, he saw Bob's face briefly flush. Pretending not to notice, he continued, "We make the fund bigger. When you personally hand out assistance and benefits to disabled officers, widows, and orphans, every rank-and-file officer in the GCPD will know whom to support."

"On the other hand, we need some accomplishments." Li Jie spread his hands, then closed them into fists one at a time. "To put it bluntly, if you have to choose between making money and getting things done, I won't stand in your way." He opened both hands again. "But what if you can do both?"

"I told you Otis has plenty of sources. He can even get dirt on a lot of people. If we can get something on Loeb..." Li Jie stood and slowly leaned over the desk, lowering his voice further. "If... I'm saying if, one day, your pockets are stuffed with the money you need to maneuver, you've built up a record nobody can ignore, and tens of thousands of Gotham officers are standing behind you, and a scandal involving Loeb just happens to break..."

He stared into Bob's eyes. Deep within those eyes, worn down by drink, women, and worldly cynicism, flames of greed and ambition burned fiercely.

"If Loeb can sit in that chair, why can't you? If he can take that money, why shouldn't you?"

As Li Jie's words faded, Bob clenched his teeth, reached back, and viciously crushed his half-smoked cigar into the ashtray before sinking against his chair. His chest heaved as though he had been left exhausted by a life-or-death struggle, yet he also looked as though he had suddenly fallen asleep. Only his heavy breathing echoed through the silent room.

The wall clock ticked as time slipped past, second by second. The smoke in the office gradually thinned. Li Jie stayed where he was, saying nothing. Another twenty minutes or so passed, until Li Jie almost thought Bob really had fallen asleep. Then Bob abruptly sat bolt upright and stared at him, his eyes red and thick with blood vessels.

"Fuck, you're right. Why can't that money be mine? Let's do it!"

But once the first rush of excitement and impulse passed, Bob gradually calmed down. Rather than reaching for another cigar, he shook a Marlboro out of his pack and lit it.

"Kid, if we're really doing this, we need a thorough plan. Otherwise, we'll die without even a place to be buried."

"No." Li Jie shook his head. "If the right opportunity doesn't come, we don't take the final step. Until then, which part of what we're doing isn't an act of justice? Nobody can find fault with us."

"Justice?"

Bob held the cigarette between his lips and turned toward the lead-gray sky outside. "That word left me behind almost thirty years ago. In Gotham, I learned something far more important than justice: survival. Just men usually don't live to thirty. Even the first step of your plan won't be easy. Where are we going to find a suitable District Attorney?"

"I heard... there's an enthusiastic newcomer named Harvey Dent." Li Jie ventured, "They say he's smart. Why don't we try tipping him off?"

"Dent? I've heard of him. But I'm worried about precisely that sort of newcomer-too clever for his own good, so eager to make a name for himself that he doesn't know when to advance and when to stop. Someone who can't read the situation will drag everyone down with him." Bob sneered and shook his head. "I know a few prosecutors myself, but those old hands aren't necessarily going to challenge the judiciary for 'justice.' At the end of the day, Franklin's word carries a lot more weight than mine."

He took a fierce drag. "And another thing. The money can be mine, but what do you want out of this?"

"Me? Subsidies, overtime pay, mission allowances and bonuses, and a promotion." Li Jie counted them off on his fingers. "But more importantly, weapons, equipment, vehicles, and especially heavy firepower. All the heavy firepower you can get."

"Both of us getting what we want would be ideal, of course. What I don't understand is why you need so many weapons." With a hint of wariness, Bob asked half-jokingly, "You're not actually planning to attack Gotham City Hall, are you?"

"I have a feeling Gotham is going to get more chaotic, and more dangerous." Li Jie retrieved his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. "Pistols and batons definitely won't cut it. Better to be prepared. Sooner or later, we'll need them."

"I trust your judgment, kid. But let's not dwell on anything that depressing right now. Let's talk about something else." Bob smoked quickly. He dropped the butt into a paper cup and poured in half a cup of cold coffee. "Go to the underground parking garage tomorrow morning. I've got a surprise for you."

"Ah!" Li Jie jumped out of his chair. "The prisoner transport vehicle actually got approved?"

"Can't you wait to unwrap your presents?" Bob laughed, picked up the cigarette pack, reconsidered, and tossed it back onto the desk. "Also, I requested a new recruit from Central Headquarters. They've given me one. He'll report in at noon today, so see whether he's a good fit. Any other requests?"

"I also... never mind. Nothing for now."

He had wanted to ask whether Edward Nygma could be transferred over. The future Riddler's mind was no worse than Batman's. But on second thought, even if Bob agreed, Nygma might not want to come. There was no Miss Kringle here, after all. Besides, the precinct had no forensic examiner position. He would have to make something of himself before putting in that request.

"Mm-hmm. Don't rush the District Attorney issue. I'll see what I can do. If that Otis really is so important, I'll issue you the paperwork tomorrow morning. Get him out of Blackgate Penitentiary and keep him at the station for now. I can give him an undercover informant identity to assist our investigations." Bob dumped the clutter on his desk into the trash, stood, and walked over to the coffee machine. "Remember, give him another name or cover his face. Whatever you do, don't let him run into Fleck yet. You absolutely cannot rush overturning his conviction."

"Understood. I also need time to investigate whether he really is the murderer. After all, even if the current evidence can't prove for certain that he is..."

"Hey! Wake up! Wake up, kid." Bob cut him off without ceremony. "Forget the evidence. If he's really as useful as you say, and we can use him, what does it matter whether he's the murderer?"

"He could have been one before. Now he doesn't have to be."