The One-Seven

Chapter 6: Discovery

Percy bit back a snarl, trying to control himself as he slammed the phone back down on the receiver. This had been the umpteenth time he had attempted to get a hold of the St. Clouds. But just like the several calls he had made the day previous, he had been redirected. It took almost all of his willpower not to shout, "Their daughter is dead, you gutless worm!" at the annoying attendant he had been talking to.

"No luck with the parents?" Montoya asked from across the desk, though the question was mostly rhetorical.

"No," Percy spat out, "If I get the ring-around one more godsdamned time, I'm just going to tell whatever pissant answers that Silver's dead and leave it at that,"

Montoya snorted, her own phone pressed to an ear, "That's a great way to get put on probation on your first week Metro,"

Percy chose not to respond. He was very quickly developing a foul mood. His talk with Montoya at breakfast had dredged up a lot of feelings and memories that he would have much preferred remain buried. Add up the mounting frustration that he was still unable to get in touch with the St. Clouds, and he was not a happy camper.

Montoya sensed her partner's developing foul mood, and placed her phone back down. "Well, I got some good news at least." She gestured to her phone, "Got a few messages from the morgue and the lab. They're waiting on one of us before they make the cut, and the lab got some of the results back from the alley." She laughed lightly, "Guess Gordon wasn't kidding when he said he'd put his foot to their throat to get our results back."

Percy nodded, his mood lifting a little. That was indeed all good news. In a city like Gotham, autopsies, or cuts, could take days, before they were ready to be done. With the sheer backlog of bodies that needed to be cut, and the small staff that often worked in the morgues, it was an uphill battle. That was nothing on waiting for lab results. Essentially being a first-come-first-serve basis, Percy had once waited nearly two weeks before he had been able to access forensics reports from a crime scene.

"You thinking we split up?" Percy asked, "One of us takes the cut, the other takes the lab?"

Montoya hummed her agreement, "I'll go to the cut if you want to handle the nerds,"

Percy nodded, before standing up and grabbing his coat. Putting it on, he reached down onto his desk and retrieved his pistol and replaced his badge around his neck.

"You know where you're going?" Montoya asked, grabbing her own belongings, before joining Percy as they descended out of the bullpen.

"Yeah," he said, "It's attached to One Police Plaza, right?"

Montoya nodded her head in agreement. She didn't say anything for a second, as her face scrunched up slightly in thought. She thought that the two of them should talk about what happened in the diner. There had been this tension between them since their talk. She blamed herself a little for it. She had overreacted a bit when Percy had been talking about the league. Sure, they hadn't shouted at one another or anything like that, but there was a definite lacking to the casual camaraderie they had been building between them.

Percy was sharing similar sentiments. It was clear to him that his partner didn't hold the same feelings and hesitation toward capes that he did. He could understand it, it was hard not to idolize figures that were larger than life, and there was no discounting the leagues track record for saving the world. But she also had never lived that life. To be fair, Percy hadn't strictly lived that life either, but it was close enough that he felt justified in his beliefs. Any time he fought something from his world, Percy had always done everything in his power to minimize the damage to mortal life and property. He believed staunchly that his problems should never result in the direct disruption of the lives of others. While he was sure that capes had similar feelings, a person didn't go into that life without some degree of empathy for human life, he felt that often times members of the league got too wrapped up in the fight to think of the consequences of their actions.