“SHOTGUN GANG” HITS GOTHAM WEST BANK-MILLIONS STOLEN

Gotham has once again been hit by a new wave of highly-motivated and professional criminals, in the form of the six men known as the “Shotgun Gang”, who started plying their deadly trade three months ago. Great Western American Bank, Central Gotham Savings, Britannia Holdings... no safe is safe, it would seem. The six men appear well-trained and carry automatic shotguns. They storm in, blow the vault, take everything they can, then disappear into the city again to plan their next robbery. They've shown themselves to be ruthless, too. In one instance they fired on a security guard, who narrowly avoided death, and in another they broke a cashier's nose after she wasn't fast enough in handing over the money. One thing is sure-they won't stop until they are caught

The sky was leaden grey, overcast and threatening rain. It seemed as if the heavy, dark clouds were pressing down on the city.

Detective Arthur Kingsley pulled the unmarked sedan up to the kerb outside Julio's. The small, cramped, and dingy diner was in one of the most deprived and violent parts of town, and Kingsley could remember being called to the diner many times as a beat cop. This was the first time as a homicide detective, though. Hopefully he would have more success than the suits did when he was on the beat, he thought as he put on his jacket and fedora.

“You know Art, I musta been called to this dump a hundred times when I was on the beat.” Kingsley's partner, Felix Taylor, must have been reading his thoughts.

“I know. This town's like a damn merry-go-round. Always the same crime scenes, over and over.” Kingsley nodded to the policeman who lifted the yellow tape to let the two detectives through.

The murder victim was sprawled on his back in a pool of blood beside the bar, several red-rimmed holes torn in his chest. A pistol was clutched in his outstretched hand.

Kingsley gazed at the scene for a moment. “Looks professional.” He said. Taylor nodded. “Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Tight shots, evenly spaced. They knew what they were doing.”

Kingsley knelt. The man was in his mid-40s, and was well-built with a thin moustache. Kingsley snapped on a pair of disposable gloves on and checked his jacket pockets. A wallet, stained with blood. “Our vic is one Anthony Maddox.” He said after reading the ID within. He handed the wallet to Taylor and checked the other pockets. A spare clip for the handgun in the corpse's hand, and...

Kingsley's face went white. He pulled something from the pocket and stood. Taylor frowned when he saw his partner's face. “What?” He asked, puzzled. “You look like someone has just walked over your grave.” Kingsley just held out his hand. He held a silver police badge that was covered in blood, red smears covering the GCPD crest. “He was a cop.” the detective said, his voice like ice. “He was a fucking cop.”

“Anthony George Maddox. Narcotics Bureau officer. Aged 44, lives in a building on the China Docks.” Edward Nygma, the tall angular forensics man, opened his mouth to speak again.

“If it's a riddle, Ed, you can just keep it.” Kingsley cut him off. Nygma closed his mouth again. Taylor appeared from behind the bar. “Got casings here.” He said. “Looks small calibre.”

“It's from Detective Maddox's gun.” Nygma replied, looking down at the dead cop. “He went down fighting.”

“Any indication of who the assailants were?” Kingsley asked.

“Maddox wounded one of his attackers, we think.” Nygma crossed the diner, pointing to a spot on the wall that was cratered by a bullet hole and smudged with red.

Kingsley looked at the victim and back again at the wall. “Trajectories seem to fit.” He remarked. “I can see how it happened.”

“Once we get Maddox back to the lab, we'll run the blood on the wall, see if we can get a match.” Nygma said, looking at his clipboard.
A uniformed officer came to the door. “We've finished interviewing the witnesses.” He announced. Taylor's eyebrows rose. “That was damn quick.” He said. Kingsley snorted. “Guess they saw nothing.” The beat cop clapped a hand to his mouth in mock surprise. “How did you know?” He said sarcastically. The three cops laughed; Nygma didn't seem to find it funny.

For most of Gotham work was long over, for some it was just starting Renee's newest assignment was to catch a big fish known to frequent the girls selling themselves on the streets. She posed as one of those girls this was the fourth night in a row, she caught a lot of Johns but not the big fish she was trying to. A car pulled up, expensive, same make and model her target was known to drive. The passenger side rear window was lowered. She leaned in showing an ample amount of cleavage. This was her target. She gave the sales pitch she copied from several street workers. He unlocked the door & she got in. That was the sign to her backup to follow discreetly, a much harder thing to do at night which is why she was given a tracking device disguised as a lipstick that would only be activated once she was at her destination in case they checked her for any transmitting equipment.

At the hotel she was taken up a service elevator to the penthouse suite. The target had a demands before anything happened. In the bathroom she did as instructed but also activated her tracker in case her backup had to give up following the car.

The two detectives came out of Julio's just as the storm broke. The rain came pounding down, drumming on their unmarked Dodge Diplomat . Kingsley lit a cigarette, sheltering in the diner doorway. “Fucking city.” He grumbled. Taylor lit up too. “I wish that a witness would give us something, just once.” He complained. “You'd think the whole of Gotham was blind.” Kingsley nodded, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke. “Never heard of a case that stuck in this place because of a witness, sure enough.”

Taylor flicked ash from his smoke. “So what criminal lowlife do we go and question first?” He asked.

Kingsley thought for a moment. “This is Falcone's territory now, isn't it?” Taylor nodded. “Yeah, Maroni traded it in after the Bomb War.” The Bomb War had been a dispute last year by the two most powerful Mafia families in Gotham had gone head to head in a spate of car bombings. Falcone had emerged on top, as usual, and Salvatore Maroni had ceded much of his turf in this part of the city.

“Who does Falcone have running this district for him now? I lose track of all the OC stuff.” Taylor asked, throwing his butt into the gutter.

“Mooney.” Kingsley answered, flicking his own smoke away before stepping into the rain to head for their car. “Fish Mooney.”

“Well, if it isn't the most handsome detectives in Gotham.” Fish Mooney said, rising from her seat. Mooney's club was almost empty save for a handful of goons and a strange, beaky guy wearing an old-fashioned cravat who served Mooney drinks. Fish Mooney was an attractive black woman with striking eyes. An exceptionally dangerous customer, she was suspected of various murders and robberies, but no proof had ever been obtained. Evidence had a habit of vanishing-and so did witnesses or informants.

“Charming as ever.” Kingsley said. “But this ain't a social call, Fish.”

“Really? And here I was about to get Oswald here to fetch you boys a drink.”

Kingsley shook his head. “No jokes. A Narco cop's been killed. Guy called Anthony Maddox.”

Fish shrugged. “I'm sorry to hear that, Arthur. But I know nothing about any cop killing. And I've never heard of him, either.”

Taylor spoke up. “Come on. You think we're fresh outta Arkham or something? You know the score, Fish. Give us something. Maddox was gunned down in Julio's, you know, that diner in Bingham District? You know what happens on those streets. Turf wars, drug deals gone bad- if you don't give us something we might have to run you downtown.”

Mooney smirked. “Butch might have something to say about that.” The GCPD men turned and looked over their shoulders. A mountain of a man had appeared silently and was now standing over them, a tight smile on his face. “Hey, fellas.”

Kingsley smiled back. “Hey, Butch. How you doin'?”

Butch Gilzean shrugged his massive shoulders. “Good, Detective. I'm good. Got a bit of a cold, but it'll pass.”

Kingsley nodded. “Sorry to hear that, my man. Now hows about you back off a couple steps before I knock your teeth out?”

Gilzean looked aggrieved. “No need for that.”

Taylor raised a calming hand. “All right. Keep your shirt on, big guy. All we need is some info. How about it, Fish? Help a couple of working guys out?”

Mooney thought for a moment. “OK.” She said. “Maybe I heard something. You know Joe Caporelli?”

“Maroni made guy, works outta the auto garage on 4th? Yeah.” Kingsley answered. “What about him?”

“He's been talking big, last while. About drug shipments and the like. New supplies, new supplier, new markets. Just the sort of thing to attract-what was his name- Maddox? Maybe he got mixed up in that.”

Renee knew she had sometime before her backup arrived and The Question had questions for this bastard. She pulled from her purse the costume for The Question and the gas to seal the mask to her face which also had the added benefit of changing her hair and clothes to a different color. Once she was in the proper attire she busted into the room and attacked the bastard. She had him pinned to the floor, she punched him in the face each time he refused to answer. "Tell me where which dock they are trafficking out of?" The continued to refuse to answer or give bullshit answers. He eventually was knocked unconscious. She used the gas again to remove the mask and return her clothes & hair to normal to their normal color. She left the trench coat on because she wasn't particularly comfortable walking around in lingerie around male cops. The mask she hid in her purse. While she waited for the cops to arrive she beat her head against the wall as part of her cover story.