68.

  "Keep those hands raised and step back slowly."

  The voice was commanding, authoritative, and familiar. Thoughts raced through my mind as I catalogued every option I had, quickly realizing that I didn't really have any tricks up my sleeve to combat a point blank gunshot to the back. I guessed whoever had the gun aimed at me was aiming high enough that my carapace armour wouldn't protect me this time. Man, I just got a new body; I didn't want to put more bullet holes in it.

  But then another thought occurred to me. If this was the Syndicate or someone trying to get the bounty, they would have just shot me. They wouldn't tell me to put my hands up. After all, I was worth more dead than alive.

  "I won't ask again," the voice growled. "Step back with your hands up."

  I stepped back slowly, sweat trickling down my back.

  "Place your hands behind your head." I did as he said. "Now turn around slowly."

  Again, I complied, slowly turning with my hands on the back of my head. DI Woodley was standing maybe 7 or 8 feet away from me, his gun trained squarely on my upper torso. His hands didn't shake, and his voice was steady and firm. His steely grey eyes meant business.

  "Shit," DI Woodley breathed as he looked at me. "You are real, aren't you?" I didn't know what to say, so I exercised my right to be silent. "Damn it," Woodley cursed. "An honest-to-goodness vigilante running around the Mulberry Estate taking down drug dealers." He shook his head ruefully. "Listen, I'm gonna lower my gun because I’m here to talk. I'm hoping you won't do anything silly, would I be right?"

  I slowly nodded once.

  He didn't know who I was. Well, he knew who the Gutter Mage was, but he didn't know it was me. I'd only spoken to him twice, but that didn't mean he wouldn't recognize my voice. I had to be careful here. One thing I've never really been too worried about was revealing my secret identity, probably because I thought only about 4 people in the whole world cared or knew about Alex. But I remembered DI Woodley's conversation with the senior officer. Woodley was sharp. There was something about him that reminded me of a bloodhound, and if he got my scent I knew he would be able to track me down.

  Woodley lowered the gun but didn't holster it. He kept it pointed at the floor down by his side. I slowly unlaced my hands and then stopped, waiting for his approval. Woodley nodded, and I lowered my hands, nice and slowly, with no sudden movements. Just from the way he held the gun and his stance while doing it, told me that Woodley probably wasn't a slouch when it came to handling a firearm. Even though New London police had only been armed for maybe the last 10 years, I knew I wasn't about to try and outdraw him if I could help it.

  Woodley let out a short, gruff bark of laughter.

  "I was half hoping you were just some strung out junkie running around robbing dealers to get a quick fix, but you're actually here fighting crime, aren't you?"

  I thought about it and then gave him another slow nod.

  "Why are you going after the Syndicate?"

  I wasn't gonna get away with a nod now. I swallowed and then, in my best gravelly Batman impression, I replied:

  "Because they're scum, and they hurt good people.”

  Woodley looked at me curiously for a second.

  "So, what, you run around the streets with a cricket bat, taking the law into your own hands?”

  "I do what needs to be done," I rasped.

  Woodley clenched his jaw and then looked around the park.

  "You from round here?" he asked. I didn't reply. "I'm guessing you are," Woodley said, fishing around in his pocket for a cigarette. He expertly opened the box and took out a smoke and lighter all with one hand, whilst never quite taking his eyes off me, his pistol always ready. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air and then took another drag. "You only seem to operate on the Mulberry Estate, so I'm guessing you're a local."

  Again, I stayed silent, although now that I thought about it, it was rather obvious.

  "You grew up around here, probably went to school local. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you live on the Estate. And I get it, you see a lot of bad people around here doing a lot of bad things, and it looks like we aren't doing anything about it.”

  "You're not," I growled.

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  Woodley bit back a response and took another drag of his smoke.

  "Shit," he said. "There isn't much we can do. We've been fighting this war on drugs for 70 years now, and the drugs won," he said. "But what you’re doing ain’t right. Citizens can't go around arming themselves and taking the law into their own hands."

  I opened my hands and indicated around the park.

  "Looks like it's working," I said.

  "For now," he replied. "And how much longer before you get yourself in an arms race that you can't win? I know you've been shot already, and that was just one fool with a rusty handgun. What are you gonna do when they start arming all of the little thugs around here and people aren't just getting beaten up; now they're getting shot and stabbed? Force only begets more force," Woodley said. "That's what you don't understand. You think you're gonna run around here and beat up every drug dealer on the Estate, and the Syndicate is just gonna let you? I mean, come on! I don't know how you survived that gunshot, but what's the chance that you'll survive the next one?”

  I stayed quiet.

  "Or even worse," Woodley said, flicking the ash from his cigarette and then looking me deep in my eyes. "What happens if next time those bullets hit that little girl instead of just putting a couple of holes in her ceiling?"

  I froze. It had been a thought that haunted the back of my mind, one that I didn't want to face. But it was true, if the level of violence ramped up in the Mulberry Estate, it'd be the innocent people of the Estate that got caught up in it, and next time someone might actually be killed.

  "This is why you don't play vigilante," Woodley said. "This is why we can't just come flooding in here and cracking heads like the good old days. It doesn't work like that. There's a reason why the law operates the way it does, because it's fair, and it mitigates casualties. What you're doing is just gonna get yourself or somebody else killed."

  I looked away from him. He had a point, but what else could be done?

  "I can't just let them keep doing it," I said to him, my voice quiet. "Somebody has to do something.”

  "We are… I am!" DI Woodley said vehemently. “I've been hunting these scumbags for way longer than you've been running around playing superhero.”

  "And how far have you gotten?"

  "The difference is," Woodley replied. "When we do get them, they'll stay got. When you get them, they'll just get replaced with another scumbag. You can't beat and murder your way through the entire ranks of the Syndicate.”

  "I haven't murdered anyone!" I shot back at him hotly.

  "For now," Woodley said. "How many goons do you think you can crack around the head with that cricket bat before one of them falls the wrong way and doesn't get back up again?" Silence stretched between us, and then Woodley sighed and took another deep drag. "Believe me, there are many days when I wonder if that might just be a good thing if we rid the street of all the scum and start again, save more kids from going down that path. But we don't get to do that. No one person gets to be judge, jury, and executioner. It doesn't work like that.”

  "I'm making a difference," I said.

  "A tiny difference," Woodley shot back. "You think the Syndicate only exists here? You can't even begin to fathom how deep this organisation runs or how high it goes. We're talking about international crime fighting. Organisations across the world are working against these people, and here you are, some rank amateur stumbling over all of our work, getting yourself into danger and putting others in the line of fire.”

  "I'll stop them if you stay out of my way," I said.

  "No, we'll stop them if you stay out of our way," Woodley shot back. "Listen, if you know something, then you need to tell me. If you've got any information that could lead to the arrest of any higher-ranking member of the organisation, then we can potentially flip them and get them to testify in a court of law. Believe me, that'll have way more impact than you knocking some teeth out and robbing a few low-level drug dealers.”

  I felt frustration arching up my spine. I didn't have time to stand there and have a moral quandary with DI Woodley, and a part of me knew that I didn't really have answers for him. I knew what I was doing was right, but I had no idea how to morally justify it.

  "Listen, I came here tonight to find you," he said, throwing his smoke on the floor and stamping it out with the heel of his shoe. "I wanted to see if you were actually real. Now that I know you are, I need to warn you. Word on the street is the Syndicate put money on your head.”

  "I know," I said.

  "Then you also know they've upped the amount: ￡30,000 for anyone that can kill you and bring your body to Brick. That's a lot of money, and a lot of bad people are gonna be gunning for that bounty. It's better you stay off the streets and stop all this before you get yourself killed.”

  I said nothing.

  "I need you to give me your word that this is the end of it," Woodley continued. "I get it, you've seen some bad stuff happening to people you care about. You wanted to do something good in your community, and you went about it the wrong way. If you really want to help the community, volunteer at a food bank or something, but running around at night armed and assaulting people is not the answer. So, I need you to tell me now that this is the end of it, for your safety and for others'.”

  I saw Woodley's hand tighten around the pistol's grip.

  "I can't do that," I said to him. "I won't stop until they're gone.”

  Woodley paused and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth.

  "Then I'm placing you under arrest.”

  Just as the pistol raised up, I took a gamble that DI Woodley was a good man and that he wouldn't shoot me down in the streets. I reached into my pocket and threw down a Chalk Bomb. The bomb exploded, and I ducked instinctively, but the pistol didn't go off. Woodley was a good man; he wouldn't shoot blindly. I heard him coughing and choking as dust filled his mouth and nostrils.

  "Stop! You're under arrest!" he coughed but I was already gone, racing up the fire escape.

  I stopped to look down just long enough to see Woodley aim his gun up at me. I stood there and looked at him. He had an open shot; he could have taken it. I saw his jaw working furiously, and then he took his finger off the trigger. I nodded at him before running back up the stairs and disappearing into the night, while Woodley just stood there watching me go. I don't know why, but the Syndicate putting a bounty on my head didn't scare me half as much as having a righteous man like DI Woodley hunting me down.

  That was going to be a real problem.