Chapter 18

Schiller’s serious psychological consultation with Gordon ended the moment Bruce opened the door.

The three stared at each other in silence; Schiller asked, “Hmm, Mr. Wayne, didn’t I tell you your psychological appointment this week was already taken? Why didn’t you call ahead to check if the counseling room was booked?”

Bruce felt awkward—he hadn’t expected Gordon to be there; he’d only come to deliver an invitation to Schiller. He knew his identity with Gordon was likely exposed, but he also knew that since Gordon hadn’t come to him, hadn’t shown up at Wayne Manor, it meant Gordon didn’t trust Batman.

This left Bruce discouraged, for he knew Gordon was a good cop, and now this rare clean force within the Gotham Police Department didn’t trust him—even harbored inexplicable hostility. Bruce knew Batman had to do more, had to accomplish something truly meaningful to change that.

Schiller said, “It seems God wants us to form an alliance. Since we’re all here, let’s speak openly.”

“We all know what happened that night. I know we don’t fully trust each other, but that’s fine—we can still temporarily unite for a common goal, like putting Dr. Jonathan Crane, my colleague who manufactured fear toxin, behind bars.”

Gordon knew he had nothing left to hide; if he couldn’t resolve this and his superiors or the police chief found out he was secretly investigating someone hiring Jonathan, he’d be finished—no grave, no burial. Whether it was Schiller or Bruce, Gordon could only hope they were at least neutral parties who might offer advice, even if they couldn’t help.

Gordon frowned and said, “It’s worse than you imagine. Victor—oh, the current police chief—was accused of trafficking high-concentration sedatives but never convicted; instead, he rose rapidly. Some suspect his backer is Sal, but no one has proof. My direct superior, Rantalo, I’ve seen him coming and going from the club controlled by the Red Ravens—but these veteran cops are too cunning; none of them can be caught red-handed.” [47] “Hey, Professor, you can’t—hello? Hello?”

Schiller sighed; he knew Gordon had still spared Gotham PD a shred of dignity. The entire police force, top to bottom, was practically the mob’s puppet. Even the most decent officer merely took mob money and did less work.

Schiller asked, “Do you know Harvey? Harvey Bullock?”

Gordon frowned, thinking, “You mean the fat guy in logistics who smokes and drinks? What about him? Do you know him?”

Harvey Bullock was depicted in some Batman comics as a slovenly, smoking, drinking fat man—Gordon wasn’t wrong—but in most comic canon, he was a good cop pretending to be a corrupt one, feigning collusion with the mob while secretly aiding Gordon, and even, in one comic, teamed up with Gordon to defeat the Joker without Batman’s intervention.

Schiller said, “You know I’ve collaborated with police in several cities. I heard he attended the police academy in Star City; a veteran cop from Metropolis mentioned him to me, saying Harvey wanted to be a good cop but was retaliated against, forcing him to disguise himself as a broken-down drunkard, even deliberately associating with the mob to find protection.”

“Do you think he’s trustworthy?” Gordon asked.

Bruce interjected, “You can’t fight alone in Gotham PD. If you have no allies, you’ll never bring down your superior or the police chief, let alone the mob behind them.”

“I suggest you try contacting Harvey—but don’t reveal everything. I believe he’s already watching this case. If he’s truly trustworthy, he might quietly help you. The two of you could work one in the open, one in the shadows—at the very least, you could make trouble for your superior.”

Gordon said, “I’ll go ask him.”

Bruce said, “As for your police chief, I’ll investigate him—of course, under another identity you’re aware of.”

Bruce never intended to hide his identity from Gordon; he knew that to gain help from any cop in Gotham, revealing his identity was nearly unavoidable.

“And the mob…” Schiller said, “Whether it’s Sal or the Red Ravens, I can go check them out.”

Both stared at Schiller; Gordon hesitated, “Professor, I know you’ve traveled widely, but I must warn you—Gotham’s mob is unlike any other city’s. They’re vicious beasts, utterly disregarding law or morality, a pack of ruthless wolves…”

“Yes, which is why I must go now. If I wait two months, Gotham University’s final exams will start, and I won’t have this much time.”

Schiller glanced at Bruce and added, “Besides, many of these students would rather party at nightclubs while it’s still daylight than spend a moment on their studies.”

Bruce awkwardly rubbed his nose; Gordon sized him up and said, “Though I’m not much older than you, I still have to warn you—if you truly intend to keep being that spandex weirdo, you’d better tone down your personal life. Half the beautiful women in Gotham have been to your bed. Don’t you think some of them might be black widows?”

Bruce brushed it off, “Alright, I’ll be careful. Thanks for the warning.”

Bruce’s “reputation” was notorious throughout Gotham. Admittedly, even at eighteen, Bruce was stunningly handsome. Though he lacked the aura of seasoned experience, his looks alone could win countless hearts. Gotham’s entertainment papers ran gossip about him daily, and the women in his photos were never the same twice.

Schiller wasn’t too worried Bruce would be assassinated by mob mistresses—he was more concerned about Bruce’s kidneys. He figured even Batman, at this rate, would eventually need to drink Kidney Treasure.

Unfortunately, as soon as Bruce returned to Wayne Manor, his butler Alfred said, “I’ve taken the liberty of canceling your date tonight—your last physical exam results were alarming…”

Bruce froze, remembering Gordon and Schiller’s strange glances that afternoon. He coughed awkwardly and said, “Cancel all my evening dates this month.”

Alfred blinked, then his expression grew odd. “Master, you invited Miss Christine to dinner two months ago. Are you certain you want to cancel her as well?”

Bruce waved his hand, “Of course. I don’t have time for dates anymore.”

Alfred’s expression grew even stranger. He hesitated, “If you’ve developed any… shifts in your sexual orientation, I hope you’ll inform your loyal butler immediately…”

Bruce covered his forehead. “Fine. I’ll be out investigating these nights… Alright, keep Christine’s date. She really is sexy and charming.”

After Alfred left, Bruce noticed his phone ringing—it was Schiller calling.

He answered. Schiller said, “You have a date with Christine, captain of the Nightingales cheerleading squad?”

Bruce startled—did Schiller have mind-reading powers?

But he quickly realized he’d overthought it. Schiller continued, “She bragged to her sisters about landing little Wayne—but two days after saying that, she vanished. Her sister reported it to the school; Anna from HR asked me to contact you.”

“I haven’t dated her yet,” Bruce said. “Our date is scheduled in two weeks. You know… my schedule’s full.”

“Then her disappearance has nothing to do with you? That’s strange.”

Schiller said, “HR told me Christine knew she was beautiful and was extremely cautious—she rarely left campus. She’s nearly graduated, yet now she’s vanished.”

Bruce grew alert. “Could it be connected to Jonathan’s case? Is he familiar with her?”

“Of course not. How would a girl like her know Jonathan? She’s a glamorous socialite; he’s stuck in his office all day.”

Schiller said, “Alright, Bruce, you’ve got a new task: find your future date—preferably before your scheduled date.”

“But I—”

“The Nightingales are Gotham University’s flagship team. The disappearance of their captain is a huge blow. The NCAA playoffs start in two weeks. If you don’t find her, I’ll fail you.”

"Hey, Professor, you can't—hello? Hello?"

Bruce helplessly hung up, then called the school himself. He learned Christine was well-liked in the cheerleading squad; many girls had come to campus demanding answers. Without their captain, they couldn’t rehearse, and the football team was upset.

Just as Jonathan was arrested, the school was scrambling to quell public outcry. Everyone was too busy—so the new professor, Schiller, got drafted.

And now Batman got drafted by Schiller.

Bruce began thinking: a beautiful girl vanished in Gotham—the outcome was obvious. But Schiller implied Christine was cautious, rarely left campus, and vanished within Gotham University itself.

It was hard not to suspect a link to Jonathan’s case.

One sheep is herding, two sheep is herding too. Bruce didn’t care about Schiller’s feeble threat—he’d never cared about failing a class.

Except for psychology, which he attended out of respect for Schiller, all other classes were spent at bars or goofing off.

Thinking of this, Bruce recalled Schiller’s earlier remark: Christine had mentioned to others that she was about to date him?

Could that be connected to her disappearance?