2014.01.31 - A Dirty Deal

For the first time in weeks, Nancy has slept. 
And she's slept well. Stripped of her armor, the woman doesn't look threatening at all. But then, they never do, do they? Reduced to a pale, drawn middle-aged woman with washed-out hair and a sallow countenance, Nancy hasn't spoken a word more than is necessary to any of the police officers who she's interacted with since she was taken into custody.
What she has done, is slept. Every minute of every day that she could, and even now she's sprawled out in the holding cell, drooling fitfully on herself as she snores the day away.
It wasn't the kind of situation that made Commissioner Gordon comfortable. Striking a deal with a criminal in order to acquire a potentially larger criminal is something that happens on the regular in law enforcement, but this was going to be off the books. A conspiracy, with himself at the very center of it. After discussing its particulars, on the rooftop of GCPD Headquarters at approximately 2:45 am, he'd gone down to his office and stood there for a very long time, smoking with the window open and considering the offer.
"We can't hold her here forever, Jim," advised Detective Benson. "You want me to go in there, see what I can work out?"
Silence.
"Jim, we either press charges or we've got to let her go. The D.A. is getting restless."
Jim flicked his cigarette out the window into the alley beyond, then turned. "No, Benson. I'll take care of it." He forked over a pair of $20 bills. "Run and get me some pizza, sandwiches, and a couple of sodas. Then leave us alone, give whatever she doesn't want to the boys."
Later...
Jim stands outside the holding cell, watching Nancy Weland as she sleeps. He checks his watch. 4:07 am. Just enough time for the pizza to cool a little; he wouldn't want her to gorge on it and burn her mouth. Walking across the room, he flips on a light, flooding the holding area as if it were the morning roll call. It's the high security area, which means that right now, they are alone. He dismissed the officer standing guard about five minutes ago.
"Wake up, Nancy."
Nancy stirs, and as she pulls herself up into a seated position, her stomach rumbles in a quite undignified manner. "Mrf. How long have I been out?" She asks, and it has to be said, clad in the usual bright orange outfit of a prisoner, Nancy does seem a lot more ... stable, than she had when she was ranting. Even if her eyes betray a deep-rooted suspicion. 
"You didn't get that from the vendor on 4th, did you?" She asks, as she eyes the pizza both hungrily, and warily. "I've been watching his kitchen for a while. I suspect he's drugging the cheese with a watered down venom serum, given the number of domestic violence outbreaks amongst his regulars." 
Okay, so maybe the sanity thing is in the eye of the beholder, but she's at least speaking more slowly and clearly. She's had a lot of time to wonder if she's done the right thing... Gordon might be uncomfortable letting her go, but he's not matching wits with an immortal who literally runs a guild of people dedicated to murdering those he doesn't like.
"Three days, couple hours," answers Gordon. His eyes glance over toward the pizza, then back toward Nancy, and there is a brief silence while he listens to her. It's... almost senseless. He should be putting her in Arkham, for her own sake, not going along with the Dark Knight's crazy idea.
He hasn't exactly committed to it, yet.
"Walnut and 7th," he answers. "Mike's Pizza Lounge. Sort of a favorite amongst the officers around here. I brought you some." He strolls over, lifts the box, and holds it toward her, even though he's too far away to let her snatch it up, not to mention those problematic steel bars. "There's also a couple of sandwiches, and... well, I hope you like Mr. Pibb." There, he waits to see if she'll accept the offer, or turn it down. A place frequented by Gotham cops... Gordon's guessing it won't sit well with her.
Nancy approaches the bars of the cell, as though half expecting them to shock her. One slice of pizza is taken, and she inspects it carefully... then starts nibbling. It is better than the swill that the prison has been feeding to her, which she knows has to be chock full of hormones. She narrows her eyes slowly, and then... squares up to the bars. 
Running her hand through her short, greasy hair, it is almost as though she's visibly transformed into someone else. Regarding Gordon calmly, she chews the pizza thoughtfully before she speaks up again. 
"I suppose I owe you an apology." She says, grudgingly. "I still suspect you're more dirty than our mutual friend thinks... as that is working to our advantage in this case, it'd be hypocritical of me to hold that against you, wouldn't it?"
Gordon can't help but let a little bit of surprise show through his otherwise bland mask. His eyebrows just rise a few hairs when Nancy actually eats the slice of pizza. "There's plenty more where that came from," he says, before turning and setting the box down nearby. He reaches for the styrofoam cup filled with Mr. Pibb, and holds it out toward the bars.
"Gotham's an ugly place," he admits. "I can't sit here and blame you for being suspicious. Maybe if I told you how many times I've almost gotten into fist fights with members of city council, boosters, union lawyers..." He shakes his head. "Confidentiality's something I respect though, even if it involves dirt bags." There's a break where he looks Nancy over for a moment, before admitting, "I've lost count. On the fights."
Turning aside, Jim reaches for a slice of pizza. He doesn't seem bothered by what germs might be on it now, and after tearing a slice free, he starts munching himself. "But, apology accepted. Sorry about your guy. I didn't know what was going down, so, in my attempts to escape, I may have stabbed him in the eye with a pen."
He really is sorry about that, too. It's there in his tone of voice. It was an action he both doesn't regret, and feels sick over at the same time. Still, he's not ashamed, and he doesn't turn his honest eyes away from Nancy when he spills that truth.
Nancy has received a lot of disinfectant and bathing - the guard stationed outside her cell wouldn't have stuck around if she hadn't - but there is still that deep-ground-in level of grime. You just can't live in the sewers for months and EVER feel completely clean again. As Gordon explains his past, she just... regards him, impassively. The apology also gets a shrug from the woman. 
Its chilling on some levels, how easily she accepts that level of violence. "These things happen." She says, as she finally takes the cup of soda, and sips that delicately too. "I took a calculated risk by taking you as early as I did. The Labyrinth wasn't truly prepared anywhere near as well as I would have liked... but my hand was forced. Now, the best case scenario for me is that I spend months putting the gang back together just to get to where we were." 
She sighs, and takes another bite of pizza, shrugging her shoulders as she swallows. "I imagine I have some idea how you feel, Commissioner. Running to stand still. Struggling to keep one's head above the ... filth."
It is, in fact, somewhat chilling. What surprise may have been left falls with the downturn of Gordon's eyebrows and a frown that forms on his face.
He doesn't at first remark about what happened in her Labyrinth. Not yet.
"Yeah, well. We're not the only people who have a problem with the filth." He takes another bite, sets the pizza back down half eaten in it's box, then slugs some soda himself. Then he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Here's what happens now. We charge you with assault, kidnapping, extortion, and whatever else the D.A. has been rattling my email with. I recommend a psychiatric evaluation to the judge, which will likely land you in Arkham when he delivers his verdict." He's assuming her guilt intentionally, a classic cop strategy that Jim Gordon is certainly not above using, especially in this circumstance. "Or..."
He leans back, quietly drawing a deep breath and doing everything he can to conceal his discomfort behind a mask of indifference. "You tell me what you know about a man named Ra's Al Ghul."
This is usually the part where a cop says something about how far cooperation will help her in court. That, however, doesn't happen.
One eyebrow raises archly, and Nancy looks over her shoulder. She has to assume, though, that Gordon can be trusted enough to make sure that there's no bugs, no listening devices. She has to, because as the thought occurs to her, she realizes that if he hasn't, she's already said enough to ensure she won't be walking out of this station alive. 
"Shall I tell you how I see it playing out instead, Commissioner? I think you'll find it illuminating." 
Whether or not Jim replies in the affirmative, she presses on. "Whether I tell you what I know or not, you ensure I am sent to Arkham. Alternatively, I go to Blackgate, which makes things more difficult but not overwhelmingly so. Either way, I use the contingencies I have in place to make sure that I am outside of containment within two weeks. Now." 
She smiles, sweetly, though it doesn't touch her eyes. "I intend to tell you everything I know about Ra's Al Ghul anyway. The choice you have then is whether to assist me with my exit. If you do, then I know that your word can - to some extent - be trusted... and the chances of anyone getting hurt in the escape becomes extremely minimal. If you don't..." 
She shrugs her shoulders. "What would you do to save the world, Commissioner?"
Meanwhile, Commissioner Gordon reaches into a pocket, produces an audio recorder, and sets it down facing Nancy. He presses the record button... but there is no red light, no movement upon the display screen. He doesn't acknowledge this oversight, acting as if everything is normal. The room has video surveillance, but no audio. Bad economy, budget restrictions. Ironically, considering how many times the Commissioner asked for them in the annual budget request.
"Please," he answers. "I'm all yours." Then, he listens.
Nancy had been read her Miranda Rights. She's still talking, and she hasn't lawyered up. These are all roadblocks that simply aren't there, at least for them, but they are the building blocks to a well-developing conspiracy.
For the moment, Gordon doesn't entertain her attempts at leading the situation. He'll lay out his own terms soon enough, and she might find them agreeable. Instead, he smiles knowingly and answers, "Everything I could, Miss Weland."
"Exactly. Everything you could." 
Nancy smiles faintly at the recorder, but she doesn't comment on it either. Instead, she carries on. "Ra's Al Ghul is, at the least, a major figure in organized crime. On the few occasions I have interacted with the man, I made the assumption that he was merely a boss involved in the usual range of drug trafficking, murder for hire, racketeering and so forth. In fact, evidence exists that he is one of the lynchpins in an organization I choose to know as The Illuminati, but which has countless names." 
She's... calm, as she moves to sit on the edge of the bunk, and takes a deep breath. "This man has existed in some form or other for centuries. Perhaps it is a title, a position within the organization, but his fingerprints are throughout world history. When there is war, genocide, even some plague and famine... the Illuminati exists to sculpt society in order to produce the kind of people that can be easily moulded and controlled, and coopt or destroy those who cannot be manipulated." 
"Ra's Al Ghul? Is the man who chooses the design. The Illuminati then construct it."
With rapt attention, Gordon listens. As the words roll, they seem somehow different. Not the paranoid rambling a of troubled sociopath, but rather like facts. Facts that, paired with Batman's request, the Commissioner is starting to believe.
It is then that Jim Gordon makes a decision. So far, he's been able to back out. Moving forward with this plan could cost him his job, his family, even his life. It says a great deal about his trust in Gotham's Dark Knight.
"You've probably learned by now that I have friends in unexpected places, Nancy. The moment you took me, you stole his attention from whatever else he was doing. No matter how far you went, Batman would have run you down and gotten me back. I want you to remember that. Remember it well."
He turns aside, reaching for his soda again. "You'll be going to Arkham in the morning. You'll have no contact with the outside world, so I hope you've got your people ready. I trust this, because you're a very organized person, Nancy. In exactly two weeks from now, at exactly 4:30 in the morning, there will be a changing of the guards, and a mechanical glitch will open your cell. This is when you will escape, and if you don't make every effort at making sure that no one gets hurt, the Dark Knight and I will pull the plug. Then, you're going to help us find Ra's Al Ghul, and after that? You'll be free."
Jim takes one last drink from his soda and stands. "There's no battery in that recorder," he says, nonchalantly, while withdrawing a set of keys and a pair of handcuffs. The cell door is unlocked and drawn open. "There's only one way to Arkham, Nancy. Make it hurt, and make it believable."
Gordon tightens his jaw, ready for the assault that is sure to come.
Nancy stands again, and she nods along as he explains the situation, "Cell 289 is a good choice for that." She says, "The wiring is faulty, I could choose to let myself out at any time." Now, though, the door is opening, and her fist curls. There's definitely a part of her that wants to punch out the policeman, even though they are, theoretically, on the same side. Her arm draws back. 
"... I really should hit you, after you tried to shoot me." She comments, but as her hand comes forward, it is instead to pat Gordon on the shoulder, and grip firmly in what she hopes is a reassuring, comradely manner. Even if it is a little firmer than would strictly be necessary for that. 
"... But I'm a woman who dresses like a giant rat, with a facility set up to allow me to drink my own cleaned urine and who voluntarily chose to live in the sewers." She says, cheerfully. "Put me in front of a judge, and I will explain that all of this is because Kryptonians have infiltrated the top levels of government since the Roswell Incident. I doubt we'll have much trouble convincing them to let me into Arkham, and you avoid yet another concussion. At your age, you really need to watch for cerebral hemorraghe."
Cell 289. Easy enough to force that into the paperwork.
Gordon was quite ready for her to punch him, perhaps worse. The cops would be on her in seconds, and he could push for her to be sent to Arkham on grounds of insanity. Instead?
The surprise on Jim Gordon's face remains hidden from camera.
He looks her in the eye for a long moment. He tries not to feel Ill over the choice he's made. In a moment of weakness, he swallows. Hard. Then, he turns around and places the cuffs on her wrists.
"You'll be indicted in the morning, with a public defender." He leads her out, but before they've left the room, he shoots her a conspiratorial look.
"I'm not that old, Weland."
There's no fight from Nancy as she's cuffed, and she flexes her wrists around them just... to make it look good for the camera. Yes. That's it, not at all a sudden moment of terror as she realizes that it would take seconds for her to free her hands and be completely ready to defend herself in case of sudden attack. There's only one thing left to say.
"Three whole years on me, old man." 
And she smirks, as she's led away. Oh yes, the armor should finally provide the true protection it was designed for. Shielding her obviously sane person from the full weight of the law.
Category:Log