[b]Eastern Gotham 6:38 AM[/b] Drizzle hit the windshield. Driver behind the wheel of the unmarked. Harvey Bullock rode shotgun. The MCU spread out working the triple 187. Allen and Fields in the neighborhood of the murder canvassing and recanvassing for eyeball wits. Montoya at the morgue, waiting for the ME's report. Bullock and Driver were bound for the Eastern District station. He sipped coffee from a styrofoam cup while Driver cruised east, clean and shiny downtown fading away with each block. The big buildings went small and dilapidated. Banks and department stores disappeared, replaced by liquor stores and check cashing places. Bullock watched the rain. It brought him back to the dark days. "Shakedown" Harvey they used to call him. A nickname he earned in full. He'd worked Narco back then, shaking down small time dealers for anything he could take. Coke, pills, weed, even the odd tab of ecstasy. He mixed drugs with booze and made an oblivion cocktail that made entire days and weeks nothing but blurs. Then Schoolboy Jim came to Narco. A newly minted Major, James Gordon had to battle his own demons. He was a former lush who recognized Bullock as one of his own. They talked it out and Bullock went cold turkey. Gordon got promoted to the top job and Bullock showed he was a decent cop after all. Five years since and no booze or drugs. It wasn't easy. He pined for it every day. He could smell the liquor on Driver and it made his mouth water. There were times where he felt like he would beat his own mother for a line of coke. Driver led him through the district station. Quiet this early in the morning. Two hours until shift change, night shift still on the street and day shift still in their beds at home. Cops there gave Driver an earful. He got hisses and catcalls. "Downtown in the house," one turnkey called to him. The district narco office: four desks amid clutter and files. Calendars with cheesecake girlies tacked on the wall. Two fat detectives on duty, one snoozing and one flipping through a skin mag and drooling. Driver said, "Rise and shine, assholes!" The one with the porno mag tossed it aside and smiled. "The prodigal son returns. I knew downtown would bounce your goldbricking ass as soon as possible." Driver and the cop shook hands. The sleeping one kept on sleeping. Driver made introductions. The fat man was Frank Maxwell, long-suffering narco dick in the Eastern District. He and Bullock knew of each other, but had never met. The sleeping cop snored. Maxwell rolled his eyes and led Bullock and Driver out to the parking lot. They stood amidst the drizzle, smoking cigarettes while Driver and Bullock gave Maxwell the skinny on the triple murder. "Someone finally clipped Lil Walter? Can't say I'm surprised. He had it coming for a long time." Bullock blew smoke and said, "Driver told me there was a rumor floating around that Lil Walter was working with GCPD consent." "Yeah, it's a rumor only because we never heard Lil Walter out and out say that. The fucker was always so smug when we tried to run him in. We'd scope out a stash house or a place where his dealers were working. We'd go in and find jack shit aside a few kids with dope, never enough to get anything but simple possession. Five years we targeted that bastard and we never even got close to him. He had to know what was coming in advance. Somebody was tipping him off, it had to be. When Essen took over the Eastern District, she ordered us to go hard on all dealers. Two days before the sweep, Lil Walter and his guys up and quit selling and we get everyone but him." Driver blew smoke and asked. "So enemies?" Maxwell shrugged and flicked his cigarette into the parking lot. "All the rival eastside drug dealers, stick-up boys with a hard-on for good coke and dope, a dope crew of fiends with shotguns, or just someone who was pissed. Take your fucking pick. I can give you a list of KAs we have on Perkins, but it's the best I can do." Bullock flicked his cigarette and said, "Finding a needle in a stack of needles." [center]*****[/center] [b]The Rose Hill Motel 7:00 AM[/b] Flass listened to the thumps in the adjacent room. Thumps followed by gasps and groans. He sat on a saggy bed and smoked, blowing smoke rings in the air. The Rose Hill Motel. Twenty years since the city condemned it. A no-tell motel dump before then. Now, rotting slowly all the while Flass used it as HQ. It straddled the line between city and county. Rooms 1-6 were inside Gotham, 7-12 in unincorporated county turf. The place was perfect for the needs of the Surveillance Unit. Surveillance sounded innocuous. It sounded boring and sterile. It was anything but. The truth: Flass led A six man roving unit that did the PD's dirty work. Goon work, black bag jobs, shakedowns, frame-ups, set-ups, and just plain old muscle jobs. Every commissioner from O'Hara to Loeb used the Surveillance Unit for handling the unpleasant nature of police work. The closest thing the commissioner had to a secret police was in the Surveillance Unit. With the right commissioner, it could be a weapon they could wield to assure long-term power and control of the PD. Now Whiskey Jim was trying to do away with it. Bureaucratic resistance and Flass' own political clout helped tie Gordon's hands. But it was a stalling tactic, Flass knew. The real key to keeping the unit was to oust Gordon post haste. Parker walked in. He had blood on his shirt and a sap in his hands. Flass raised an eyebrow. "I think he's ready." Flass stubbed out his cig on the bed post and stood, donned brass knucks, and went into the adjacent room. A young black man tied to a chair looked up at him. His face streaked with blood and sweat. Flass cracked his neck. He was six foot six and towered over the sitting man. He flashed the knucks and let the man know he meant business with a short shot to the kidneys. He groaned in pain and Flass smiled. The man tried to look away, Flass snatched the back of his head and made him look him in the eyes. He got in close and talked softly. "Kenny, you are a known associate of one Walter Perkins, a recently murdered drug dealer. We tried asking nicely, but you chose to insult Detective Parker and his wife. For that, you were given a punishment befitting your infraction. Now, we know the late Mr. Perkins had enemies. A drug dealer accrues enemies the way money accrues interest. Now, Kenny, tell me all you can about Walter, his friends, his enemies, and anyone who might wish to do him harm. Be truthful and choose your words carefully, for I hate people who are liars and repetitive." Flass stepped away and listened as Kenny rapidly revealed secrets to him.