[b]Dutch Hill 10:15 AM[/b] Detective Sergeant Harrison Doyle sucked on a colorful Starbucks coffee as I slid into the booth across from him. Picture your average Irish cop. Ruddy faced, dark-haired, rumbled suit. That's pretty much Doyle in a nutshell. A squad supervisor in the GCPD's central robbery unit, he's also a crook's best friend. Competent and always looking for a slice of the action. "Lamonica," he said between sips of his drink. "Doyle," I said with a scowl towards his drink. "What is that?" "Unicorn Frap," he said with a shrug. "[i]Riiight[/i]. Got a joke for you, Doyle. How many cops does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" He burped and said, "None. They just beat the room for being black." "Heard that one, huh?" "A time or two. Now what do you want so bad that you call me in the middle of the night?" I spent five minutes explaining my predicament; getting nabbed at Zinkman & Sons, the ride to Rupert Roth's house and his threat. Doyle took it all in with a look I'm sure school children give their teachers during a long lecture. Doyle slurped down the last of his frap and shrugged. "So, what does he want you to do, and how much are you gonna pay me to help you with it?" "I'll give you an even grand." Doyle raised his eyebrow. "For?" I leaned across the booth and looked Doyle up and down. "What are you in the pants, Doyle, a 32-30?" --- [b]Gotham Central 3:45 PM[/b] Okay, Lamonica... you can do this. I stepped out of my car and looked at myself in the reflection of the driver's side window. I'm a few inches taller than Doyle, so the pants ride up a bit, but otherwise he ended up being a perfect match. To even the most untrained eye, I look like a GCPD uniform officer. The badge and nameplate are fakes, Doyle can be bought but he's not stupid enough to give a crook his badge. The fakes pinned to my chest were damn good ones. Getting through the front door was gonna be the easy part. Getting into the evidence room? Well, that's going to be another story. And leaving with what Roth wants? That's going to be almost impossible... [b]Gotham Heights Last Night[/b] "Black Spider." "Is that like a cocktail?" I asked Roth. "No. He was a man." Roth ordered one of his pet goons to fetch him a drink. A minute later the man returned with a glass of milk that Roth took down in four swift gulps. "Sorry, kid, I'm getting old. Gotta have my milk. Now, Black Spider was a man. He was like the Bat, only not. Back during the 80's, the town was a huge shit hole thanks to things like crack. Murder rate was through the fucking roof. The Black Spider was a vigilante, like the Bat, except he did not leave any of the scumbags alive. He used a gun and he fucking shot to kill. Summer of... '86, I think it was. He cleaned up whole sections of the Narrows by force. Cops start a manhunt for him, dealers but bounties on his heads. He gets capped right before the fall, two in the back of the head on a street corner. Nobody ever ID'd him so he went into the morgue as a John Doe, and all his belongings are in some GCPD archive somewhere." "What does this have to do with me?" I asked, but I already had a feeling. "One of the ways I make money now, a sideline business, is selling crime memorabilia online. You have no idea how much some dumb shit from Iowa will pay for the Penguin's fucking shoe or one of his goofy umbrellas, or some shit like that. If the Joker is good and capped like they say he is then I want something from him, like a lock of his hair or something like that that may be something we work out if this goes well. I want you to break into GCPD and take the Black Spider file, along with the evidence." "That's over thirty years, Mr. Roth. What makes you think they still have it?" "For your sake," sneered Roth. "They better have it." --- [b]Now[/b] I took one last deep breath and started up the steps to Gotham Central. Ever since I was a teenager, I swore I wouldn't come anywhere near a police station if I could help it. And now? Now, I was willing walking into one to do what was without a doubt the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life. No, the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life was go to that Limp Bizkit concert. This was the most dangerous. There we go. That's better.