Schiller’s serious psychological consultation with Gordon ended the very instant Bruce pushed the door open.
The three of them stared at one another in silence.
“Well, Mr.
Wayne,” Schiller said, breaking the quiet.
“I believe I told you that you’ve used up your consultation time for the week.
Why didn’t you call ahead to ask if the office was booked?”
Bruce felt a touch of embarrassment.
He truly hadn’t expected Gordon to be here; he had only come to deliver an invitation to Schiller.
Bruce knew that his secret identity had in all likelihood been exposed to Gordon.
Yet he also knew that the fact Gordon hadn’t come looking for him—hadn’t come to Wayne Manor to find Bruce—meant the detective didn’t truly trust Batman.
This left Bruce somewhat frustrated.
He knew Gordon was indeed a good cop, yet this rare breath of fresh air in the Gotham City Police Department didn’t trust him, and even harbored a vague hostility toward him.
Bruce knew Batman would have to do more—would have to do things that truly mattered—to change that.
“It seems God wants us to form an alliance,” Schiller said.
“Since we’re all here, why don’t we lay our cards on the table?
“We all know what happened the other night.
I know the three of us don’t entirely trust one another, but that’s fine.
We can still unite temporarily for a common goal—like putting my colleague, Dr.
Jonathan, the man who created the fear gas, behind bars.”
Gordon knew he had nothing left to hide.
If he couldn’t resolve this matter, and his boss and the police commissioner found out he was secretly investigating someone trying to hire Jonathan, he would be absolutely finished.
Whether it was Schiller or Bruce, Gordon could only hope they were at least neutral parties; even if they couldn’t help him, they could at least offer some advice.
Gordon frowned.
“The situation is far worse than you think.
Victor—the current police commissioner—was once accused of trafficking high-concentration sedatives, but he was never convicted.
Instead, he rose through the ranks like a rocket.
Some suspect Salvatore is behind him, but no one has any evidence.
As for my direct superior, Lantarlos, I’ve personally seen him entering and leaving the club run by the Red Crow Gang.
But these old cops are far too cunning; no one can catch them slipping up.”
Schiller sighed.
He knew Gordon was still sparing the GCPD some dignity.
Virtually the entire Gotham police force, from top to bottom, consisted of mob lackeys.
Even the most decent officers merely took the mob’s money and looked the other way.
“Do you know Harvey?” Schiller asked.
“Harvey Bullock.”
Gordon frowned in thought.
“You mean that fat, chain-smoking alcoholic down in Logistics?
What about him?
Do you know him?”
Harvey Bullock was indeed depicted in some Batman comics as a sloppy, chain-smoking, alcoholic fat guy—so Gordon wasn’t wrong.
But in most canon settings, he was a good cop who disguised himself as a bad one.
He appeared to be in cahoots with the mobs, but in reality, he secretly helped Gordon.
In one comic storyline, he even teamed up with Gordon to defeat the Joker without Batman ever getting involved.
“As you know, I’ve collaborated with the police in several cities,” Schiller said.
“I heard he attended the police academy in Star City.
An old cop in Metropolis once mentioned him to me.
He said Harvey wanted very badly to be a good cop, but suffered severe retaliation for it.
Consequently, he had no choice but to adopt a degenerate guise to protect himself, even actively mingling with the mob to secure a shield.”
“You think he can be trusted?” Gordon asked.
Bruce chimed in, “Fighting a lone battle in the GCPD isn’t going to work.
“I think you can try reaching out to Harvey, but don’t lay all your cards on the table yet.
I’m sure he’s keeping an eye on this case too.
If he really is trustworthy, he might secretly offer you some help.
The two of you can play a tag-team game, one in the light and one in the shadows.
At the very least, you can throw a few wrenches into your boss’s gears.”
“I’ll go talk to him,” Gordon said.
Bruce added, “As for your commissioner, I’ll investigate him—using that other identity of mine, of course.”
Bruce hadn’t intended to hide it from Gordon in the first place.
He knew that if he wanted the help of a cop, it was practically impossible to do so without revealing his identity.
“And the mob…” Schiller said, “Whether it’s Salvatore or the Red Crow Gang, I can go pay them a visit.”
Both of them stared at Schiller.
Gordon said hesitantly, “Professor, I know you’ve traveled to many cities, but I must warn you: Gotham’s mobs are unlike those in any other city.
They are vicious beasts, completely devoid of any regard for law or morality.
They are a pack of ruthless wolves…”
“Yes, which is exactly why I need to go now.
You see, if I delay for two months, Gotham University will be holding final exams, and I won’t have this much free time.”
Schiller glanced at Bruce and continued, “After all, many of the students here would rather mess around at nightclubs while the sun is still up than put any effort into their studies.”
Bruce rubbed his nose in embarrassment.
Gordon looked him up and down and said, “Though I’m not much older than you, I still must warn you: if you truly want to keep playing the masked freak in spandex, you had better rein in your private life.
Half the beautiful women in Gotham have been in your bed.
Do you really think none of them are black widows?”
Bruce brushed it off perfunctorily.
“Right.
I’ll keep that in mind.
Thanks for the warning.”
Bruce’s playboy reputation was legendary across Gotham City.
It had to be admitted that even at eighteen, Bruce was breathtakingly handsome.
Though he didn’t yet possess that weathered, worldly aura of his later years, his sheer good looks were enough to capture the hearts of countless women.
Gotham’s gossip rags published stories about him almost daily, and the female companions photographed by his side were never the same twice.
Schiller wasn’t particularly worried about him being assassinated by some mob mistress.
He was more concerned about Bruce’s kidneys; he figured that even if he was Batman, playing around like this would eventually force him to start taking vitality supplements.
Unfortunately, the moment Bruce returned to Wayne Manor, his old butler, Alfred, told him, “I took the liberty of canceling your date tonight, Master Bruce, as the data from your last physical was rather concerning…”
Bruce froze, recalling the rather odd looks Gordon and Schiller had given him earlier that day.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, he said, “Cancel all of my evening dates for this month.”
Alfred was taken aback, and his gaze slowly turned peculiar.
“Master Bruce, you invited Miss Christine to dinner two months ago.
Are you certain you want to cancel her invitation as well?”
Bruce waved a hand dismissively.
“Of course.
I don’t really have the time to go on dates with them right now.”
Alfred’s gaze grew even more eccentric.
After a brief hesitation, he said, “If there has been any change in your orientation, Master Bruce, I hope you might inform your loyal butler at your earliest convenience…”
Bruce slapped a hand to his forehead.
“I’ll be out investigating things these next few nights…
Oh, fine.
Don’t cancel Miss Christine’s date.
She really is gorgeous and charming.”
After Alfred left, Bruce noticed his phone ringing.
He picked up, and Schiller’s voice came through: “You have a date with Christine, the captain of the Nightingales cheerleading squad?”
Bruce was startled.
Did Schiller actually have mind-reading abilities?
But he quickly realized he was overthinking.
Schiller explained, “She was bragging to her sorority sisters about bagging the young Mr.
Wayne, but she went missing two days after making those boasts.
Her sisters reported it to the university, and Anna from the HR department asked me to contact you…”
“I haven’t gone out with her yet,” Bruce said.
“Our date is scheduled for two weeks from now.
You know how…
packed my schedule is.”
“So her disappearance has nothing to do with you?
Well, that’s strange.”
Schiller said, “The HR department told me that Christine knows she’s beautiful, so she’s always been highly cautious.
She rarely leaves campus unless absolutely necessary.
She’s so close to graduating, yet now she’s suddenly vanished.”
Bruce grew alert.
“Could it be related to Dr.
Jonathan’s case?
Was Jonathan close with her?”
“Of course not.
Why would a girl like that be close with Jonathan?
She’s a gorgeous social butterfly, while Jonathan locks himself in his office all day.”
Schiller said, “Well, Bruce, now you have a new task.
Find your future date, preferably before the scheduled time of your rendezvous.”
“But I…”
“The Nightingales are Gotham University’s pride and joy.
The disappearance of their cheer captain is a major blow to them.
The national league playoffs start in two weeks.
If you can’t find her, I will fail you in my class.”
“Hey, Professor, you can’t…
Hello?
Hello?”
Helplessly, Bruce put down the phone and called the university himself.
Only then did he learn that Christine was highly popular within the cheer squad.
Many of the girls had gone to the administration demanding answers.
Without their captain, they couldn’t practice their routines, which in turn drew complaints from the football players.
With Jonathan’s recent arrest, the entire university administration was scrambled, trying to find ways to quiet the media storm.
Everyone was spread thin, which was how Schiller, the new professor, got drafted into handling this.
And then Batman got drafted by Schiller.
Bruce began to think.
When a beautiful girl went missing in Gotham, the outcome was almost always tragically predictable.
But from what Schiller said, Miss Christine was a highly cautious person who rarely left campus.
She had vanished right within the grounds of Gotham University.
It was hard not to suspect a connection to the Jonathan case.
“Might as well herd two sheep if you’re already herding one.” Bruce didn’t pay the slightest mind to Schiller’s toothless threat.
Since when did Bruce Wayne care about failing a class?
Aside from psychology, which he attended out of respect for Schiller, his schedule for other classes was entirely replaced by clubbing and fooling around.
That brought a thought to mind.
Bruce recalled what Schiller had just said—Christine had mentioned to others that she had an upcoming date with him?
Could that have something to do with her disappearance?