2012-11-30 Falcone's War: Walk The Line

There wasn't much word from Mayor Klass' office when the new mask calling himself Rhadamanthus showed up on the scene. This is Gotham City, after all, and it attracts the crazy like sugar attracts ants. But the mood has changed substantially following the death of Carmine Falcone's right-hand man and a shootout at a charity fundraiser being attended by many of Gotham's political elite. Not long after news of the incident hit the papers, Klass' office arranged a meeting between the Mayor and the Commissioner of Police.

Mayor Wilson Klass sits at his desk, brow furrowed and his face red as he looks over a scattered collection of papers and photographs – all of them to do with Gotham's different masked vigilantes. A thin man in a suit and glasses leans against the wall nearby, a smouldering pipe drooping from his lips.

There's something to be said about the weary. They never rest.

Just back from New York, where Gordon has been working on a number of high level cases alongside the DEA, FBI and NYPD, he's fresh from the train and dripping with rainfall. Fortunately, the trench coat and umbrella has kept him relatively dry, but the same won't be said of the aged stone floor beneath where he hangs his coat and hat.

"Mister Gordon? The Mayor will see you now."

Gordon tips his head cordially to the young lady working the Mayor's desk, then enters the office after concealing a sigh. Upon entry, he forms a smile beneath his mustache, and briefly acknowledges the man resting upon the wall. "Mister Klass."

Jim Gordon always had a hard time dealing with politicians. He never quite knew when it was time for mincing words, or when it was time for brutal honesty. The Mayor's reaction catches him somewhat off guard, but he hides it well, neglecting to sit once the Mayor stands up. "He's no hero," quips the Commissioner. "Not everyone who wears a mask is a hero. You and I both know that."

In spite of the Mayor's heated reaction, the Commissioner remains extremely calm. He had to be that way, you know, dealing with a bunch of cops who were either stressed out, corrupt, or too jaded to give a damn. "We're on our own here, Wilson. I just got back from NYC. Had a little pow wow with the FBI, bounced some ideas off NYPD experts, hell, even spoke with some guys from the DEA. They've written Gotham off, unless I can manage to pull enough strings to get some outside help." He stops and motions toward the television, finally showing a frown. "This Falcone business though. It's pretty ugly. These guys have the ship locked down so tight I can't even bust their muscle on a narcotics charge."

Gordon takes a seat when the Mayor does, not wishing to be above or below him, but rather, on an even level. He folds his hands together and listens, nodding in agreement a couple of times before a frown comes back to his face. He leans back into the chair, silent for a thoughtful moment, before speaking up again.

"While I was in New York, I was traveling through Manhattan with some FBI agents. We found ourselves caught in a pretty ugly situation. One of those anti-mutant rallies turned ugly. You probably saw it on the news. I saw normal people light up over the smallest things. A girl in a cape jumping into a taxi. Christ, who knows if that wasn't some nerd wearing out her halloween costume? Doesn't matter. She got mobbed, probably ended up in the ER."

He finally leans forward, frowning. "We have to be careful, Wilson. People out there like this Rhadamanthus... what the hell does that mean anyway? ...they might be one to ten steps away from becoming the next Joker. But then, you've got people like Batman. People love him or they fear him, but they do it for the right reasons." He leans back again. "I'm not saying that Batman isn't a criminal. He is. But this is a fine line you're talking about. You think Lyntown is a risk... well, that's the mob. They'll throw their weight around because their arrogant crooks. What we really need to be concerned about is... what happens when good people get angry at figures of authority? Like it or not, it's something we have to pay attention to."

“I can't afford to play around with this,” Klass says with a shake of his head, “Bringing in Rhadamanthus isn't going to cut it. As long as any of them are out there, nobody is going to feel safe. Batman might be doing what he does for the right reasons, but its time for him to answer to the law, Jim. I want you to bring him and all the rest of them in.”

At that point, Klass gestures over his shoulder to the man with the pipe who has hereto been silent, “This is Max Feyn from the Department of Finance. We're not going to make you do this alone. If you bring in the masks, we'll be throwing a lot of money behind the GCPD come budget time. Have you seen what the cops in Metropolis get to work with? How long do you think the Joker or Two-Face is going to last against that kind of firepower?”

“I know you want to handle this carefully and I do as well,” Klass says, his tone reassuring, “But this has to happen. Any resource you want and it's yours. I'll pull in favors from Washington if I have to but bring them in.”

With a casual turn of his head, Gordon studies the man leaning up against the wall. Max Feyn. Try as he might, Gordon can't help but let a smile come to his face. "You guys always like to do this the wrong way. Once we've brought in the masks, we won't -need- the firepower."

That statement is entirely false, of course, and Jim is well aware of that fact. Consider it an effort in trying to root out clues, anything, that might link either Feyn or the Mayor himself in with the mob, or the masks. As far as Gordon was concerned, with the state of affairs, everyone was suspect.

And on that note...

The Commissioner leans back in then, leveling a heavy gaze upon the Mayor. "If you want me to do this, Klass, you're going to have to understand one thing. -Everyone- is suspect. You, me, hell, even Bruce Wayne. They're -masks-. That means they are hiding something." He's not going to pull any punches, either. "How do I know that you aren't Rhadamanthus, Wilson?"

He leans back again, the expression upon his face doing well to prove that he's not joking. "If we're going to do this, it has to be that way. I'll have to file petitions for surveillance, pulling of bank records, medical records, tapping of e-mails and phones, and I'm going to have to do so without probable cause. The Justice Department is going to throw a fit over that. You think you can handle that much heat?"

“I'd rather a hissy fit from the Justice Department than a riot in the streets,” Klass answers, holding his hands out, palms up, “You've got everything. I'll see to it personally. Judge White and I went to college together, I'll make sure he cooperates with you on everything. Ask all the questions you have to ask but bring them in. No exceptions, Jim. I don't just want Rhadamanthus. I want every last one of them. Even Batman.”

Feyn's mouth twists a little at the mention of so much money but he seems agreeable all the same, nodding his head in reply.

Admittedly, Gordon was expecting more resistance to that. Then again, the world had changed since the passage of the USA PATRIOT act. A half-hearted smile come to his face, and he nods his head twice. "I'll get to work on it right away, Wilson."

Klass nods his head, a look of determination on his face as he silently reassures himself that he's handling this right. He stands up, reaching a hand across the desk to shake with Gordon, “Good. I'm glad you're on our side on this, Jim.”

Walking that line, Jim stands up and offers his hand with a firm shake and a pleasant smile on his face. And yet secretly, his wheels are spinning. His life is about to become just that much more interesting. "As always, Wilson," he answers, before turning and tipping his head to the man with the pipe. "Mister Feyn."