Malphegor
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PIG Ch. 06
🕑 Added 2025-11-27 04:48:19 +0000 UTCThe moment the two stepped into the East End Precinct, a smattering of applause sounded. Like a few drops of rain falling onto dry ground, it quickly disappeared.
"Vitale, good job!" a voice called out from a corner.
"Wilson, nicely done!" another voice echoed, but it sounded more like someone fulfilling a formality than genuine praise.
The atmosphere was subtle. Before they could respond, a middle-aged officer walked over carrying a stack of documents.
"Hey, Vitale, Bob wants you two in his office the moment you get back. And good work today." He slapped Marco on the arm. "The second Wilson called for backup, I bet you boys would pull through."
"Thanks. I'll head over." Marco answered weakly.
Most people were staring pointlessly at their own desks. Others were muttering "Wrong bet" and reluctantly handing cash over to Inspector Elbert.
Marco was already used to this. He didn't bother paying attention. He and his partner walked to the door at the end of the hallway marked Chief's Office and knocked.
The moment they opened the door, a rich smell of cigar smoke hit them. A fat man sat behind the desk, holding a phone.
"You call me to demand punishment for my subordinates? Screw you, my boys risk their lives every day. And what the hell have you done?" He cursed into the receiver, gesturing to the chairs across from him for them to sit. "Think things through before you come talk next time, or I'll file a complaint with Loeb myself!"
He slammed the phone down, shot them a look, and snorted.
"See? The medical examiner at Central is complaining to me, saying you and Wilson covered up negligence."
Bob McGinnis stared seriously at them. "Do you know how much pressure that puts on me?"
"Huh?" Marco blinked. "Something from early this morning and he's calling just now? Who are you fooling?"
"Oh, he called earlier. I was just reenacting how I answered." Bob spoke calmly, as if nothing had been exposed. "I'm the precinct chief, you should show me some respect."
"No problem." The two jumped up and snapped a perfect salute. "Thank you very much, Chief."
Bob waved for them to sit back down. "Fine, I thought you'd thank me a bit more. Anyway, that guy is nothing in my eyes, but you two still need to be careful. Central got a new guy a few years back, well, not new anymore, name's James Gordon. Upright to the point of being painful. Even Flass got busted once because of him. Getting complaints from Gora isn't a big deal, but don't let Gordon catch you on anything serious."
"James Gordon? We met him today. He came to pick up the bodies," Marco nodded.
"Yeah, and he said I was a hero," Darnell added quickly, pointing to Marco. "Uh... and that he was too."
"Hero my ass, you idiot. Remember, heroes don't last." Bob scoffed. "You think Gordon's a hero? Working under Grogan, he always ends up holding the biggest and ugliest bag. One of these days he'll probably be sent to guard a door somewhere. And look at you two, one rookie not even six months in, the other barely two months. Why do you think you were put together as partners, hmm?"
He leaned back in his wide leather chair. "Old cops hate training rookies. And they sure as hell don't care about whose head is on the line. A dead man is forgotten fast. Vitale, do you even remember how Officer Garcia died?"
He paused. "But I will say this, second thing: good work today. Three of the guys hijacking the prison transport killed, and one taken alive." A glimmer of approval showed on his face, followed by a sigh. "Too bad the ones from Blackgate didn't make it."
"I'm sorry. If I'd been a bit faster, maybe..." Marco sighed too. "But Garcia died of a cerebral hemorrhage from drinking too much..."
"Forget the minor details. Dead men, shootings, compensation, that's Central's problem, not ours. You did well." Bob waved dismissively. "Long story short, starting tomorrow you're both on administrative leave for a week. When you come back, you'll be getting promoted."
"Wait wait, administrative leave is normally two weeks!" Marco and Darnell stared at Bob. "Why are ours cut in half?"
"Because I'm short as hell on manpower. Did you hear about Turner on your way in?"
"Turner? From Homicide? What happened?"
"He got taken out in an alley this afternoon. I'm pretty sure it was Falcone's people, but there's not much I can do." Bob rapped the desk lightly with his knuckles. "You gotta know which way the wind's blowing. Gotham isn't run by the police right now."
Marco nodded, suddenly wary that Bob might be leading him into a trap.
"Understood, Chief."
"Relax, kid, I wasn't implying anything." Bob shrugged. "I'm just saying, pick your battles. My ancestors were immigrants too, few generations back. Came over from Ireland with nothing but the shirts on their backs."
"Uh... sure, Chief, but I think we're getting off topic. And that diversion trick doesn't work on me." Marco pursed his lips. "Your family history can't have anything to do with my vacation days being cut."
"He's right," Darnell chimed in, dragging his chair forward, though he clearly hadn't understood a word. "For all I know, your ancestors were the ones who, well, you know. So I agree, we should be getting more days off."
"You shut up!" Bob snapped. "But yeah, manpower is stretched thin, and your shooting incident is clean as day. The investigation is just procedure. So..." He irritably pulled open a drawer and tossed an envelope on the desk. "Five hundred bucks. Go get a drink. The department-approved reimbursement will come later, might be a few days."
"Huh? What happened to make a cheapskate like you pay out of pocket?"
Marco froze, jumping back a full step. "Whatever is possessing you, get off Bob right now!"
"FUCK, I told you to show me some respect." Bob waved his arm impatiently. "Seriously, I only care about two things. First, this precinct runs without problems. Second, no one gets in the way of me making money. You're a good kid. I've got high hopes for you. But in the future, don't rush into that kind of thing. Let the Central boys handle it. I never force you to charge in and die, your life is your own."
"Yes, sir. No problem, sir."
Marco really didn't know how to respond. The East End Precinct was nothing like a normal precinct, everyone here had the mood of workers lightly goofing off.
Bob was notoriously stingy. Out of the roughly forty thousand dollars of gang payoff money they received every month, he swallowed more than half personally. But aside from that, he never touched compensation funds, benefits, bonuses, or essential equipment. And he never interfered with subordinates lining their own pockets either. If someone else skimmed something, he neither interfered nor protected them.
The West End chief, Arthur Brown, was the complete opposite. He only pocketed about one-fifth of the monthly bribes and distributed the rest to his officers, but he also got a cut of every shady deal his subordinates made. He even sold department-issued body armor and shotguns on the black market.
Even so, Marco still found the situation in front of him unbelievable. He looked at the envelope and slowly stretched out a hand, only to find Bob's fingers pressing firmly on top of it.
"Uh... you're sure you won't regret this, right? Maybe we just... drop it?"
"Take it before I have a heart attack!" Bob withdrew his hand and dramatically clutched his chest. "Get out, and keep working hard."
Marco stuffed the money inside his jacket. The two saluted and left.
---
Back at their desks, Marco sat down and tossed the cash at Darnell for him to count.
Now he had just over four thousand... which still wasn't much. Maybe after returning from leave he'd have more coming in. But he also had plenty of urgent expenses.
First, he needed a car. Sure, he drove a squad car every day on patrol, but he couldn't exactly use a department vehicle to drive around on his days off. A halfway decent used car would cost five to seven thousand at least.
Ugh.
He rubbed his face in frustration. Being broke hurt.
After calming down, he pulled out a sheet of paper and began scribbling on it.
This was Gotham. Based on the people he'd encountered, Edward working inside the police department shouldn't be a problem for now. But Waylon was different. Once he started killing, there was no turning back.
He'd have to find a way to get him out.
After thinking for a while, he crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. Then he turned to Darnell.
"By the way, you know anyone who sells used cars?"
"You buying a car?" Darnell scratched his head. "Why not try the employee welfare auctions? If there's something you like, slip the Equipment Management guys some cash and get yourself on the pre-book list. Retired patrol cars, impounded cars, seized vehicles, they have everything... Wait, didn't you tell me this in the first place?"
"Right, I forgot." Marco sighed. His limited budget was getting thinner by the minute. "Honestly, I'm starting to regret giving that kid a hundred bucks this morning."
He stood up and headed for the second floor under Darnell's watchful eyes. A few minutes later he returned, mouth twisted like he'd swallowed a fly.
"Huh? Looks like that cost you a fair bit?"
"Three hundred bucks... to cut the line and get my paperwork submitted. Also, there'll be an internal auction in the precinct parking lot tomorrow at noon." Marco slapped himself lightly to calm down. "But I need to go out of town tomorrow. Can you go for me? Something cheap, sturdy, easy to maintain... and roomy if possible."
"No problem." Darnell rubbed his hands together. "If I see something good, I'll just—"
"You'll just CALL me!"
"Oh, okay, okay, got it." Darnell deflated a little, but perked right back up. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll get you something solid!"
Marco nodded, collapsed back into his chair, and stared at the stains on the ceiling in silence.
After a while, he gathered up the things on his desk, stood up, and got ready to leave.
"Where are you going?"
"Look at the time," Marco checked his watch. "Too late already, I need to go home and cook dinner."
"Huh?" Darnell's eyes lit up instantly. He separated the money into two stacks and pushed half toward Marco. "You're making... Lasagna? I can eat Italian food, you know."
"Like hell." Marco pocketed the cash. "I'm going home to boil pasta."
"Tss..." Darnell sucked in a breath.
