Bruce entered the Gotham City Police Department, or GCPD, looking over the cold steel and painted brick construction. People in uniform hurried here and there while carrying out their duties, shuffling paperwork or escorting uncooperative detainees to their accommodations behind bars.
The front desk was to Bruce's left, and a bored officer behind the counter sat up in his chair, almost spilling his coffee as he took his feet down off the desk. The officer's balding head was barely covered at all by a wispy comb over of pale brown hair. The uniform he wore was covered in stains and crumbs from his eating at the desk, and its size was straining to the limit as the officer hadn't fit into it properly in years.
"How can the GCPD be of service?" the officer asked in a tone clearly stating disinterest.
"I'm looking for Detective James Gordon," Bruce answered.
"Lieutenant Gordon was called to a meeting with the Mayor," the officer reported around a bite of doughnut before gulping it down with a large swallow of coffee. "He should be back any time if you want to wait."
"Thanks," Bruce accepted. He was about to sit down on the wood bench opposite the front desk, but a liquid spill on the seat changed his mind as he didn't know what it was and had no intention of sitting in the middle of it. He opted to stand.
Upon closer inspection, the paint on the walls was in sad shape. It was chipping in several places, peeling off in long strips in others. What paint wasn't coming off was covered in grime, dirt, and the markings of the criminals who'd been left unattended with pens or pencils.
The bulletin board was crowded with notices and wanted sketches of criminals, but the number of items stuck to the board was almost too many for the pushpins to hold. The notices were stacked one on top of the other and finding a specific item would require taking down a dozen or more dispatches tacked over the ones underneath. It was a model of inefficiency and carelessness. Bruce wondered how the police could function in such an environment.
The front doors burst open and a police officer with coppery brown hair, streaked with white, strode inside. His long coat billowed behind him like a cape due to his brisk pace. A mustache covered his upper lip, but the white of his hair had yet to encroach on it. Even after many years, Bruce recognized the man who had coaxed him out from behind the dumpster when his family had been killed.
"James Gordon," Bruce called out before the policeman could rush past him.
"Yes?" Gordon responded as he halted and looked in Bruce's direction.
"Perhaps you remember me," Bruce said, extending a hand in greeting. "I'm Bruce Wayne."
"Wayne," Gordon said in awe, looking Bruce up and down. He accepted the offered hand and shook it firmly. "I haven't seen you in years. You look good. What brings you here?"
"I've been thinking about a career in law enforcement," Bruce explained. "I was hoping you might be able to provide me with some information on what's involved in being a cop."
"Certainly," Gordon agreed. He was about to say something else when the desk officer broke in.
"Lieutenant," the desk jockey called out. "You wanted to be notified if we had a break in the Harris case. An anonymous tip reported the suspect in the vicinity of the Beckman Hotel at Fifth and Drake."
"You want to know what it's like being a cop?" Gordon asked Bruce as he changed directions and headed back toward the door. "Why don't you come along and see it for yourself?"
"I'm with you," Bruce agreed, and he fell in step with Gordon, following him downstairs to his car.
"What have you been up to all these years?" Gordon asked as he climbed into a brown, four door car and leaned over to unlock the passenger side.
YOU ARE READING
Bruce Wayne
FanfictionWhat does it take to be a hero? Orphaned at a young age, Bruce Wayne is plagued by nightmares of his parents' murder. His quest to fight against the fears in his own mind will lead him to discover the hero he can become. This is not a story about...
