Batman: A Maroon in Midnight Blue (Wattpad Edition)

CH 17.2: Just Gimme A Reason

When Gordon and I got to the roof, I sighed and cracked my neck. Thing no one ever realizes about the Bat Signal is how heavy it is, or that Princess Gordon can't be bothered to position and light it himself.

"Not tonight, Harvey. He's already on his way." Gordon said. He pulled out a cigar of his own.

"What makes you so certain?" I asked.

"He was the one that brought Minstrel in. He'll be back once our guys get nothing out of Minstrel."

I chuckled, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Comish. You sure know how to make our boys feel appreciated."

Gordon shrugged the comment off and changed the subject, "What was Detective Harrison talking to you about? You two don't typically run in the same circles."

And there we go! The real reason Gordon wanted to talk to me; he wanted to make sure Crooked Harv wasn't getting himself in trouble again. I didn't need nor want a goddamn babysitter, and I wasn't interested in hearing any of Gordon's shit about what I should or shouldn't do! But he was still my boss and—like it or not—the only person I trusted in the whole damn precinct. So, I told him the truth.

"Harrison's asking me to join this new circle jerk he's part of. Calls themselves the Overwatchmen, and they claim they're trying to stop Minstrel or anyone trying to become like him. Or the Panthers. Or any other race-baiting thugs. It's all Hollywood's idea, as far as I can tell."

Gordon placed his fingers to his temples and sighed, "Dammit! I knew Frederico would be trouble ever since he came here from L.A. County. I will not plague Gotham with the same cop gangs they have out there, Bullock!"

I shrugged, "I can't say I disagree with the idea. Minstrel's causing trouble, bringing up shit that Gotham hasn't had to deal with before. I'd love nothing more than to form a posse and string him and his uncle up by a lamppost, seeing as we ain't got trees."

I'll say one thing about Jim Gordon: He may act like a bitch, but sometimes he isn't. The second I said that, he grabbed me by my collar and pushed me into the stair-well door. His face was red in fury, eyes popped out of his skull, and his wide, open mouth showed carnivorous teeth as he shouted at me.

"Bullock, if I even hear a whisper of you joining up with something like that, you won't have to worry about the Joker or Minstrel or anyone else! Do I make myself clear?"

"Get off, Jim!" I pushed him off me then dusted off my collar, "I didn't even tell him yes. But I'm thinking about it, and you should too. This pacifist shit will get you killed, Jim! Like it or not, we gotta start going at these bozos harder than they come at us."

Gordon shook his head, "We're not murderers, Harvey. We will NEVER be murderers!"

I pointed out to the city below, "There's millions of people down there that think different. Doesn't matter if the perp has a knife or a gun or comes at you, if you defend yourself and your colors don't match, then you're a murderer and a racist. These liberal, antifa sons of bitches are going to bed at night thanking God for Minstrel killing Namzmiren and hoping that he comes after you next. You, Jim! Your daughter! Your family could be next, and they'll fucking cheer. Murder's a subjective word, Gordon. Kill the wrong person and it's murder, kill the right person, and it's self-defense."

I lost my cigar when Gordon threw me, so I pulled another from my pocket and lit it.

"If you think that we're all safe just because Minstrel's in a cell, you're wrong. Now it's official, Gordon. Now this story will end like it always does. Minstrel's going to get out; maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now, but he's going to get out. And he'll kill another cop. And he'll do it again and again and again, and each time he does it, he'll drive some other psycho out there even further to the edge until we've got a thousand of him running around."

"We're not the goddamn Klan, Bullock. You can't just become a—" He didn't finish the thought, but I didn't need him to.

I chuckled, "Go on, say it, Jimbo. Say that we can't take the law into our own hands. Say that we can't defend our own sense of justice. Say that we can't become vigilantes."

He didn't say it. Of course he didn't. Poor, old Jim. He was a good guy, but good guys tend to lack in the testicular area. I didn't tell him that, though, cuz I'd already told him enough. All that was left to do was smoke on the rooftop and wait for Batman to come down and instruct us on the proper way to deal with Minstrel.

End Chapter 17