Lance had to admit, if you were friends with Tony Stark, you would quickly come to appreciate just how talented that genius asshole was at causing trouble.
The man was like a beagle off its leash, completely unrestrained.
Take your eyes off him for even a moment, and he would create a problem big enough to give you a headache.
Of course, even if you kept watching him, it made no difference. He would circle around you, barking incessantly until he drove you straight into a breakdown.
Lance was not thinking about this because he intended to become Tony Stark's babysitter.
Quite the opposite. He was reminding himself that whether he managed Stark or not, the man would inevitably stir up something enormous.
And since Stark had not paid him a single cent in babysitting fees, Lance saw no reason to interfere.
When Stark inevitably created a mess too big to handle, he would remember his reliable and highly capable lawyer friend.
For now, there was a new case waiting for Lance in Gotham.
After he and Batman had brought Scarecrow to justice last time, Lance had assumed that affair was over.
Who would have thought that today, the only honest man in Gotham, Sergeant James Gordon, would come knocking on his door.
This was his first meeting with Gordon since the last time Lance had thoroughly made trouble for the Gotham City Police Department.
For Gordon to track down such an obscure law firm, their mutual friend Batman must have put in considerable effort.
Inside the office, Lance's newly adopted child, Waylana Jones, poured a cup of coffee for James Gordon. Meanwhile, Lance held the latest issue of the Gotham Daily, carefully reading through it.
Although Waylana Jones's atavistic mutation was quite severe, she was still young. At present, she was in a half-human, half-crocodile state, something Gordon, who had seen far worse in Gotham, could accept without much difficulty.
At least on the surface, he showed no reaction to her appearance.
That alone made Waylana let out a quiet sigh of relief. She had been worried about causing trouble for Lance.
Fortunately, Gordon did not scream the moment he saw her, unlike most people.
Meanwhile, James Gordon slumped into the blue guest sofa, taking small sips of the rather mediocre coffee, his still-young face heavy with exhaustion.
"Sorry, Mr. Prescott," Gordon said awkwardly. Their last meeting had not been particularly pleasant.
"I heard... from Batman that the murderer known as Scarecrow was captured by the two of you together. Most of the key details also came from you, so you should be familiar with his background."
Gordon sighed, rubbing his face hard as if trying to force himself awake before continuing.
"That bastard is a PhD in chemistry, which makes him extremely valuable. Some people don't want him dead. They want to exempt him from punishment entirely, move him to their own hidden facilities, and have this genius criminal continue developing tools for killing."
"That's very Gotham," Lance said, setting the newspaper aside and looking at Gordon. "A man who can produce lethal gas in a rundown lab. Anyone who gets their hands on him stands to make a fortune."
Gordon shook his head.
"It's not just about money. Some people want him to work on something far more dangerous than poison gas. If it were drugs, they would just be squeezing money out of addicts. But if they push him to develop something that can control the human mind..."
"Then all of Gotham becomes a city of puppets," Lance finished calmly. "Forgive my bluntness, Sergeant Gordon."
He shook the newspaper in his hand and pointed to a small, corner column no bigger than a block of tofu.
"I just read today's Daily. The report on Jonathan Crane is this small. Of course, that's very Gotham. A genius criminal reduced to a statistic in the daily crime count. But what's interesting is this..."
Lance gestured for Waylana Jones to pass the newspaper to Gordon.
"As far as I know, you led the arrest that night. You handled the interrogation and filed the case yourself. Yet in this report, your name doesn't appear at all. Instead, someone called Sergeant Arthur takes up two-thirds of the article, praised as some heroic crime-buster."
Lance leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Gordon's.
"So I don't understand why you came to me with this. Even if Jonathan is convicted, the credit won't go to you. And more importantly..."
"Since you know Batman, you should know something about me. We're not strangers. You should also know that my fees are expensive. Can you afford them?"
Gordon fell silent.
A moment later, he let out a long breath. "I know."
"Gotham is rotten to the core. Even the police department is full of useless people. I know that too. I can't rely on them for anything."
His voice carried a trace of exhaustion. He took another sip of coffee, then leaned back into the sofa, curling slightly as he fell quiet again.
That reaction caught Lance off guard.
To be honest, he had not intended to discourage Gordon.
It was simply part of the usual routine. Lower expectations first, then raise them later.
Instead, he had pushed Gordon straight into discouragement.
That was not the goal.
Lance sighed inwardly. If he created the problem, he would have to fix it.
"Don't lose heart," he said. "From the first time I met you, I knew you were different from the others."
"The first time..." Gordon echoed, then gave a bitter smile. "That wasn't exactly a pleasant meeting."
"Not at all." Lance chuckled.
Back then, he had been busy gathering evidence for Bruce Wayne's case, and his methods had been far from clean. After each operation, he would call the Gotham Police Department and turn himself in.
Almost every time, James Gordon was the one who processed him.
After enough repeats, Gordon had gone from shock, to numbness, to outright irritation.
It was hardly what anyone would call a good first impression.
"Let's talk business." Lance tapped the table lightly. "As a stone in a latrine, you've done well enough. But if you really want to block the filth, do you know what you need?"
Gordon looked up.
"It has to be big enough." Lance spread his arms slightly. "Big enough to block everyone's view. Big enough to be impossible to ignore. Big enough that all that filth has nowhere to go around it."
As Gordon sank into thought, Lance added lazily,
"Oh, right. From the moment you walked in, my service fees have been ticking by the second. And since you want to hire me for a case, with your current salary, you probably can't afford me."
"I suggest you go find Batman."
"I'm very expensive."
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