Malphegor
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PIG Ch. 28
🕑 Added 2025-12-03 02:34:33 +0000 UTC"Huh? You're telling me you can't make this thing any smaller?"
Marco stared miserably at the half-palm-sized recorder in his hand, then glanced at his colleague in the tech department.
"Steven, you're the most capable tech guy in the precinct. You must have some way, right?"
"Cut the flattery. You know I'm just the precinct tech, not the second coming of Edison." Steven waved lazily, stopping Marco just as he was about to take out his wallet. "I'd love to make some side cash, but this time it really can't be done. Besides, the current size already fits in a sleeve or pocket. Why do you need it that small? Planning to meet a suspect naked in the shower or something?"
"Uh..." Marco scratched his head. He certainly couldn't admit his real plan, to stick the recording device on a rat. "I just think... smaller is safer."
"Unless you're planning to strip and shove it somewhere creative, the current size is plenty small." Steven opened the safe and took out a matchbox-sized device. "There is a smaller one. Just released, digital recorder. The precinct got it as a showpiece. No tape, all digital storage... well, forget it, you wouldn't get it. Just know it's expensive. Device plus storage card, over thirty-five hundred dollars."
Marco forced a smile. "Well... thanks anyway."
Forget it, that thing was way too expensive, and he needed more than one. He headed back to the lobby and saw Alan still dutifully flipping through case files. Marco walked over and whispered, "Have you seen the chief today?"
"He went out with two people... I think to visit some officers? Sorry, sir, I wasn't really paying attention."
"It's fine, don't be nervous." Marco patted his shoulder.
Looks like Bob had started moving too. He needed to hurry.
He went to the parking lot, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number. A slightly excited voice answered.
"Born from humble dust, dwelling in a tiny box,
Clad in wooden robes, crowned with blazing fire.
One heartbeat ignites the light of life,
One sacrifice grants rebirth to another.
Who am I?"
"Ha! Ed, this one's easy." Marco perked up, finally one he could actually guess. "It's a match."
"...Well, yeah, technically. But try thinking one layer deeper?"
"One layer deeper? Then... a lighter?"
A defeated sigh.
"No... a hero, Marco. You're the hero everyone in the precinct keeps talking about now."
"Funny how nobody asked who I was when bullets were flying, but donate fifty grand and suddenly I'm a damn hero." Marco snorted. "What about you, Ed? You and that girl... Ms. Kringle?"
"Uh... u-uh..." Edward suddenly stuttered. "I think it's going well. I guess she... maybe she... l-likes me?"
"You should be printed on playing cards." Marco silently rolled his eyes. "Anyway, can you talk now? I need a favor. Do you know anyone who can modify or build miniature recording devices?"
"I'm alone in the evidence room right now." Edward replied. "Modify mini recorders? How small?"
"Hmm... small enough for a rat to drag it quietly to the target and bring it back. Just assume I have a rat that understands commands. The East End guys mentioned digital ones, but they're too expensive."
"A rat... then it can't exceed twenty grams." Edward thought for a moment. "I'll make you a prototype before tonight. Wait for my call."
"You can do that? Ed, honestly, so long as it's not about women, you're a complete genius." Marco said sincerely. "I should teach you how to talk to girls sometime."
"No thanks. I'd rather learn from your partner."
"...Uh."
Marco wanted to argue, but remembering Darnell shamelessly flirting and groping even while hospitalized... all his words turned into a single sigh.
"...You're absolutely right."
He left the precinct, drove to Little Italy to pick up a few things, and headed straight to the charity clinic.
The moment he stepped in, the front desk nurse panicked and quickly called the office. Last time he was here, he'd beaten up the director's ex on the spot. She wasn't even sure whether the two of them still had lingering feelings. And now he walked in carrying a long box under his arm, who knew what was inside?
Thompkins, however, wasn't scared. A true saint, not a fake one, if she were scared of pressure, she wouldn't be running a charity clinic to help the poor. After getting the warning call, she walked out to block Marco in the hallway.
"Officer, what are you doing here again?"
"Uh..." Marco pulled out the box and handed it to her. "Sorry about the conflict yesterday. Just a small gift."
"Oh... well, thank you." Women usually appreciated such gestures, and her attitude softened. She looked the gift over carefully. "Alcohol... I heard Jim say you gave Falcone the same thing?"
"No way!" Marco denied immediately. "What I gave Falcone was way more expensive."
"...You're quite an honest man." She laughed. "Are you here to see Harper and Cullen? They're probably napping."
"No, I was just passing by. No need to wake them." Marco dug in his pocket and took out an envelope. "Please give this to Detective Gordon."
"This is..." She felt the envelope, something card-shaped inside. Her brows furrowed. "Are you trying to bribe him?"
"No. Same as what I gave you. Just a gift to express my apologies." Marco opened the envelope, took out two cards, and showed them to Thompkins. "A membership card for the Police Association Welfare Store, and one for Lucia's Children's Bookshop."
"Ah, so you even prepared a gift for Barbara." Thompkins' tone immediately hardened. "Or are you planning to remind him in this roundabout way?"
"Of course not." Marco sighed, talking to these people was exhausting. "Honestly, I admire Detective Gordon. He's one of the few good people in Gotham. And that shootout the other day? He provided the backup, we owe him. I don't want to end up on bad terms with him. But I really can't stand the way he does things. Stuff that could be easily resolved... he always complicates because of his idealistic methods."
"Mm..." Thompkins fell silent for a moment, then gave a bitter smile, as if remembering something. "True... I know that feeling well. But that's not your main concern now. We're almost at the twenty-four-hour deadline. I have to report to CPS. I can stall them for three days using medical paperwork, but no longer."
She returned to her office, retrieved several documents, and handed them to him. "These are your copies. Are you ready?"
"It'll be fine. Thank you."
Leaving the clinic, he went to a car dealership to get a cheap used car. Driving a squad car was too conspicuous. Sure, it was normal in Gotham, but if Internal Affairs decided to nitpick, it'd be a headache.
The dealer, applying the "stranger gets scammed double" philosophy, quoted twenty thousand dollars for a Cherokee. Marco only got the real price, twenty-five hundred, after threatening to call people from the precinct to check the vehicle's origin.
He paid, and then, under the pretense of "after-sales service," forced the guy to do a thorough inspection and put on new tires. As for the condition, who cared? Gotham specialty. Every poor man's car looked like this.
He'd been running around all day, so by the time he met Edward that night at GCPD, he practically collapsed into the evidence room chair, unwilling to move at all.
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing. Have you eaten?"
"Not yet. I just finished assembling what you wanted. Want to see?" Edward proudly handed him a device about the size of half a lighter, rubbing his hands, eyes full of anticipation. "It's nothing special. I just took apart two hearing aids and an electronic watch, added some junked equipment from the evidence room, and hand-rolled a miniature tape. It can record for about thirty minutes."
"Oh my god!" Marco shot both hands into the air, then suddenly bent over and slapped both hands against his ankles. "What brings light to the world? Your brilliance! But seriously, it's a waste for you to be a forensic tech. It's a loss for all humanity." He put the device in his chest pocket. "Come on, dinner's on me."
"Anywhere's fine." Edward grabbed his coat. "What do you even want this thing for? Don't tell me you're seriously planning to assemble a cat-dog-rat spy squad. Historically, both the Soviets and the Americans spent massive—"
"If... forget it. Let's go." Marco waved a hand. "I'll tell you once we're out of the precinct. Aside from you, I don't trust anyone here."
They hurried into the newly bought used car. As he started the engine, he told Edward the whole story about Otis, Harper, and Cullen. Edward listened quietly, nodded, then shook his head.
"You're overcomplicating things. Even if your rat-catcher friend and the rat-agent follow your plan perfectly, how can you be sure they'll overhear the suspects talking about anything illegal? Time is running out. And CPS isn't some almighty institution. Some things are urgent, some aren't. If your only goal is to stop them from taking the kids, then just wear a mask, ambush the main caseworker on their way home, and press a gun or knife under his chin. I guarantee he'll do whatever you say."
"...That's it?" Marco stared at him. "That's way too..."
"Too crazy?" Edward smiled slightly. "Maybe anywhere else. But this is Gotham. Did you forget? Of course, you'd have to do it cleanly."
"Mamma Mia, how do you think of these things? Every time I talk to you I feel like a complete idiot." Marco rubbed his head. "Seriously, do you want to transfer to East End? They don't have a forensics unit, but I can get Bob to set one up for you. You could even double as the medical examiner. Or tech supervisor too if you want."
"Then you'd have to pay me at least three salaries. But... forget it. There are plenty of idiots here, but East End probably isn't any different."
"At least I can guess riddles with you?"
"Oh god!" Edward covered his face. "Please don't mention your riddle-guessing ability."
"Well... there's Darnell. They don't have Ms. Kringle over there, but he'd definitely introduce you to a bunch of girls." Marco leaned in. "Besides, if you earn some honors or achievements at East End, won't she see you differently?"
He cupped his face, speaking in a soft woman's voice: "Oh Edward, I regret not getting to know you sooner! You'll forgive me, won't you?"
Then he put his hands on his hips and switched to a man's shout: "Dream on! You ignored me before, now you're not good enough for me!"
"Stop! Stop! STOP!" Edward frantically waved his hands to halt the performance. "Let me think... just give me some time to think..."
"No problem." Marco straightened in the driver's seat and slammed the pedal, the car leaping forward. "But before that, use that genius brain of yours, where are we eating?"
