A L L E Y S | Gotham

ten | VICTOR ZSASZ

BARBARA'S COMFORTING VOICE could be heard on the other end of the line, but Jim knew it was just her voicemail.

"Hey. Leave a message."

"Barbara, if you're at home, listen to me," Jim instructed. "I need you and Isabella to get out right now."

He shut the door of his locker, and was faced with a very angry bearded man. Harvey punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor, and causing him to drop the phone. Jim could only watch as Harvey pointed a gun at him.

"I thought we were friends," Harvey rasped out, a small look of guilt in his eyes.

"Harvey."

"Shut up! Game's over. Now I gotta kill you, take your body back to Falcone and beg. Beg him for mercy!"

"Listen to me," Jim said, raising his hands. "I screwed up, but I have a plan to make things right. Don't kill me. Help me."

"You think I'm an idiot?"

Harvey then looked over his shoulders to see two officers coming forward. They gave him a strange look, to which he replied by shouting, "Walk away! Walk away."

As he was distracted, Jim grabbed the gun in his hand, trying to force it out of his grip. He tripped Harvey over as the officers left.

"Help me," Jim pleaded once more. "We don't have to go out like this."

"You better hope you never see me again. You've put that girl you care about so much, in the worst kind of danger. Go to hell."

Jim just glared at his ex-partner, and then left.

〰〰〰〰

Barbara only watched as the phone on the table started ringing, tears brimmed in her eyes.

"Wow," Butch Gilzean, Fish Mooney's righthand man, grinned at Barbara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What a place, huh?"

The other man in the room chuckled.

"A beautiful home... for a beautiful lady," he complimented her, as she shivered in fear.

"Please tell me what you want."

"I guess there no harm in the truth. See, your boyfriend was supposed to kill a certain person for somebody, only he didn't. And now that somebody is real mad. Heh."

"Cobblepot," Barbara guessed.

"Huh?"

"He didn't kill Cobblepot."

Butch laughed madly, smacking the sofa where Barbara was sat, "There you go! You're hip. You are hip. That Jim Gordon is one lucky son of a gun. What are you like, one-hundred pounds? One-ten? I bet that's your real hair colour too."

Butch sat down next to her, and then sniffed her hair as she cringed.

"P-Please just let my daughter go," Barbara sobbed silently, wondering where she was. When they first came into the apartment, one of the men whisked Isabella away.