Lead-grey clouds hung low over Gotham. No rain, but the air was thick with cold that seeped into your bones and made everything feel heavier than it should.
More than a dozen police vehicles had formed a loose perimeter around the low stone wall of Falcone Manor. The orchard beyond the wall was dead quiet. The wind moved through them without a sound.
Marco opened the car door and stepped onto the ground. His breath came out in white clouds. He looked up at the estate. Dark red tile roof, weathered brick walls, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the chimney before the wind tore it apart and scattered it into the grey nothing above.
Falcone's men were everywhere. Posted on the porch, tucked behind the orchard trees, visible in windows throughout the building. They weren't hiding. They wanted to be seen. Every single one of them gripped an automatic weapon. Their eyes tracked the cops beyond the wall.
The police formation had set up behind their patrol cars, the armored ESU truck at the center, and backup units from Gotham Central fanning out on the flanks. Every muzzle pointed toward the manor. Nobody was talking. Everyone was waiting.
Gordon took a deep breath, stepped forward into the open space between the wall and the police line, and raised the loudspeaker.
"Victor Zsasz! You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Gotham Police Commissioner Nathaniel Barnes! Drop your weapons and surrender immediately! We know you're in there! Come out now, hands on your head, and nobody else has to get hurt!"
His gaze fixed on the heavy door of the manor, as if he could see straight through it to the man inside.
"Carmine Falcone! Look around you. Look at the men and women willing to die for you. Are you really going to let them all go down just to protect one killer? Is this how you want it to end? After everything you've built?"
The words carried across the orchard, but the only answer was the faint moan of wind through branches.
Seconds stretched into a full minute. Just as Gordon was about to speak again, the door creaked open from the inside.
Every cop's gun snapped toward the entrance.
Falcone stepped out.
He was still wearing an expensive overcoat, tailored perfectly, his hair combed back with the same meticulous care he'd always shown. But the straight line of his back was bent now. The weight of age and defeat had finally caught up with the Roman. The authority that used to radiate from him like heat was gone.
He didn't look at the police. He walked alone, leaning on a cane, moving slowly across the porch. He stopped at the top of the steps, his gaze sweeping over his own men, before finally settling on Gordon and Marco beyond the wall.
His eyes were clouded, but there was still a flicker of the old power in them. A ghost of the man he used to be.
"I never thought I'd see police surrounding my home again. Twenty years ago, you'd be lying dead in the street by now. But today..." He spread one hand slightly. "Today, I have to admit. You've won. This era doesn't belong to me anymore."
The words came out heavy. Like the closing line of a story that had gone on too long.
"I can leave Gotham," he continued, his gaze locked on Gordon. "I'll take my people and never come back. I'll transfer every business under my name to the city government. All I ask is that you let Victor go. He was only following my orders."
Some of the cops shifted their weight. A few unconsciously loosened their grips on their weapons. It was a good deal.
Gordon's jaw tightened.
"No. Commissioner Barnes is still lying in a hospital bed! Zsasz has to answer for what he did! The law doesn't make deals! Either you hand him over, or we go in and drag him out ourselves!"
"For the Roman!" someone shouted from the manor.
The atmosphere exploded. Falcone's men erupted in a roar of defiance, weapons snapping back up, fingers tightening on triggers. The brief hope of a peaceful resolution evaporated in an instant.
"Get ready!" Gordon barked, raising one arm. Behind him, every cop chambered a round, sighted their targets, and prepared for the worst.
"Wait."
Marco stepped out from behind the armored truck. He didn't look at Gordon or Falcone. His eyes fixed on a shadowed corner near the manor's entrance.
Zsasz stood there, half-hidden. His face was expressionless.
"Jim," Marco said calmly, not breaking eye contact with Zsasz. "If we push this, it turns into a slaughterhouse. You know that."
"What are you planning?"
Marco ignored the question. He turned toward Falcone.
"You heard Detective Gordon." His voice was louder now, carrying across the courtyard. "Handing over Zsasz is your only option. Your last option." He paused, then shifted his attention directly to Zsasz and raised his voice even more.
"Victor Zsasz. Are you going to hide like a coward? Or are you going to come out here and settle this like a man? You and me. One on one. Right here, right now."
He stepped forward, moving into the open ground between the two armed groups. Every gun on both sides tracked him as he moved. He reached down, unbuckled his duty belt, and set his holstered Glock on the ground at his feet. Then, with his left hand, he drew the collapsible baton from his tactical rig and snapped it open with a sharp flick.
"You win, we leave," Marco said, pointing the baton toward Zsasz. "You lose, you come back to Blackgate with us."
Every eye in the courtyard turned to Zsasz.
Gordon started to move forward, but Marco made a subtle gesture with his hand behind his back: stay put.
Falcone closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and the last trace of color drained from his face. He understood. This wasn't a challenge. It was a trap Zsasz couldn't refuse. If he stayed hidden, he looked weak. If he fought and lost, it was over. And if he fought and won... well, Marco wouldn't have offered if he thought he'd lose.
But Zsasz didn't care about any of that.
He stepped out of the shadows, moving slowly, his gaze never leaving Marco. There was something burning in his eyes now.
"Ever since the first time we met, I've wanted to test myself against you."
He walked to the center of the courtyard and stopped about ten paces from Marco. From the small of his back, he drew a long, narrow blade. "Today, I finally get my wish."
The two men stared at each other.
Marco tightened his grip on the baton with his left hand and shifted into a defensive stance. Zsasz lowered his center of gravity.
Nobody breathed.
Zsasz's ankle twitched. Marco's muscles tensed, ready to swing. And then both men moved at the same time. Zsasz's right hand whipped open the hem of his coat. Almost simultaneously, Marco's right hand shot back toward the small of his back, beneath his jacket.
Bang!
Bang!
Two gunshots, overlapping so closely they almost sounded like one.
Shock flickered across Zsasz's face. He'd been faster. He was sure of it. So how had Marco's shot arrived first?
The 9mm round tore into Zsasz's right shoulder, spinning him slightly. His gun jerked, and the bullet he'd fired went wide, kicking up dirt meters away from Marco.
But he didn't go down.
A wild, feral light flared in his eyes. He snarled, fought to steady himself, and tried to bring his weapon back on target.
Bang!
The second shot hit him in the face.
His head snapped back. The light in his eyes went out like a switch being flipped. He collapsed forward onto the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. Blood began pooling beneath him, spreading slowly across the dirt.
The whole thing had taken maybe three seconds.
Marco lowered his gun slowly, glanced down at Zsasz's body, then looked up at Falcone on the porch.
Gordon glanced at the Glock Marco had just tossed back to Darnell.
"Victor Zsasz," he announced. "Shot and killed while resisting arrest."
Falcone stood motionless. He didn't look at the advancing police. His eyes were empty. The wind swept through the orchard, lifting a few leaves. They tumbled over Zsasz's corpse and past Falcone's face.
"Mr. Falcone" Marco said. "The arrest warrant only has Zsasz's name on it. But I'm sure it won't be long before we see each other again."
Gordon directed a few officers to load the body into a transport vehicle, then turned to Marco.
"Why did you miss back on Cherry Lane?"
Marco thought for a moment, then answered with a completely straight face.
"I don't know. Maybe too much pressure. Besides, every few months there are days like that."