The Missing Girls of Little Saigon

Bronson shut the office door and dropped heavily into his chair, exhaling a long, weary sigh. By the window, Dent stared out at the street, as if he might spot Gordon in the steady flow of pedestrians and traffic.

"How long before the press finds out?" Bronson asked, resignation in his tone.

"They probably already know," Dent said, turning from the window. "And they're likely on their way."

Bronson pinched the bridge of his nose. "It'll be a damn circus—press hounding every cop for a statement."

"You know, I've always thought of the press as vultures." Dent smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

Bronson let out a low chuckle. "I regretted saying that the second it left my mouth."

"I didn't become a lawyer to be loved, Bill." Dent shrugged off his coat and draped it over the chair before sinking into it.

Bronson's smile faded. "Alright, Harvey. What's this important news? And if it's about more dirty cops, tell me they're not mine this time."

Dent met his gaze, reaching into his pocket for a sleek metal cigarette case. "Just one."

Bronson's expression hardened. "One? That's an improvement."

"And he's not dirty," Dent said, holding up a cigarette. "Mind?"

Bronson gestured toward the ashtray. "Go ahead."

Dent lit up, inhaled deep, then exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke. "I've heard from a reliable source that someone in your precinct has partnered up with… an unconventional ally."

Bronson arched a brow. "Unconventional?"

Dent let the pause hang, tapping ash into the tray. "You all call him a freak."

Bronson's jaw tightened. "You don't mean—"

Dent nodded. "The very one."

Bronson sat forward, posture stiff. "You're certain?"

"A hundred percent."

Bronson studied him, fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "Who?"

Dent didn't answer right away, just took another slow drag. Finally, he said, "Before I tell you, I'd like to know what you think about it."

Bronson exhaled through his nose, weighing the question. "I think whoever this cop is, they're either brave or incredibly fucking stupid."

"What would you do about it?" Dent pressed.

Bronson leaned back, arms crossing. "I won't have him tailed so we can arrest the vigilante, if that's what you're worried about."

"A bit," Dent admitted.

Bronson chuckled. "I'd be a hypocrite, turning a blind eye to half the force's dirt and then cracking down on this."

Dent's brow lifted. "That's your stance? He's just another criminal?"

"No, it's a fact. Almost every precinct in the city has him on some count of felony assault and breaking and entering. Hell, we even have him for unlawful use of airspace with that plane of his, and driving an unregistered vehicle that's not street legal."

"I heard the car was totaled. Is it true?" Dent asked.

"Not sure if it was totaled, but some boys in the Narrows chased him out into the Hills. They said it got banged up pretty good," Bronson said. "No one's seen the car since."

"I heard he led the chase out there to avoid civilians," Dent noted. "You have to admit, he's mindful."

Bronson narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at, Harvey?"

Dent considered him for a moment, then leaned forward. "Maybe we should see this as an opportunity." He rested his hands lightly on Bronson's desk. "A chance to shift the scales. To change the game, Bill."

"How's that exactly?" Bronson's frown deepened.

Dent exhaled another stream of smoke, eyes locked on Bronson. "You ever read Perez's column?"

Bronson snorted. "Every cop reads it, even the ones who swear they don't."

"Plenty of Loeb's men are afraid of him. Hell, gangs across the city talk about him like he's some kind of demon. Maybe he is," Dent said, taking another drag. "But the key here is they fear him, Bill. And that's useful."

"You can't possibly mean—"

"Think about it, Bill. We'd have a powerful, resourceful ally. You said it yourself."

"Did I?" Bronson asked.

"We know he's broken into City Hall, the Iceberg, Falcone's residence in Milton Village, the Ziggurat, Wayne Tower—"

"We'll be here all night." Bronson interrupted.

"With the exception of the Wayne building, nothing was ever stolen. I bet he was looking for intel, confirming info he'd already gathered. We know he's got sources all over the city."

"Yeah, crazies like him," Bronson muttered, leaning back in his chair. "So what are you suggesting, exactly?"

"You bring Gordon into the fold. He brings his partner. And we work with them. We wouldn't have to wait for luck to strike, Bill, like with Carter and the Crime Alley Boyz. We could make our own luck."

Bronson pulled a crinkled cough drop from his pocket, unwrapped it with deliberate slowness, and popped it into his mouth. The sharp scent of menthol filled the room. He leaned forward, elbows bracing the desk, voice tight.

"You haven't thought this through, Harvey. When he first showed up, he went after cops. Hell, he still does. And not all of them were dirty. Some were just doing their jobs, but he cracked their bones all the same. It's one of the reasons most of the guys don't like him."

Dent flicked his cigarette against the tray. "He's eased off lately. Now it's mostly Loeb's cops he goes after."

"Not always. And blue still bleeds blue," Bronson muttered.

Dent leaned back, a slow smile forming. "There are different shades of blue, Bill. You can't tell me Arnold Flass is someone you'd stick your neck out for."

Bronson let out a dry chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "Good cops don't work with criminals. A mask and cape don't change that."

Dent smirked. "Mari's been itching to figure out why he's gone soft on cops. Used to send them to the ER without a second thought. But now? He's holding back. People are wondering. I bet you have too. Maybe now we know why."

Bronson's gaze darkened, elbows still on the desk, fingers laced together as he turned the thought over.

"Bill," Dent said, voice low, steady. "This is a chance to stop playing by their rules."

Bronson sat back, face unreadable, the weight of the decision settling in. After a long pause, he looked Dent square in the eye.

"Alright, Harvey. Who's the cop?"