Perez

Officer Pham still wore his uniform—minus the gun belt—as he stood at the barred window. A cigarette balanced between his fingers, its smoke curling upward. One arm rested along the sill as he gazed at the pigeons on a ledge across the street. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke sit heavy in his lungs until it burned.

Behind him, the door creaked open. A nasally voice cut through the quiet. "Sorry for being late," the man said, briskly stepping in.

Pham didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the haze of smoke spreading across the window. The pigeons shuffled along the ledge, wings twitching, their movements measured.

"I just met with O'Malley, Fuentes, and Shiff," the lawyer continued, setting down his briefcase. "I'll tell you the same thing I told them: don't say a word." He snapped the briefcase open, retrieving a yellow legal pad. "Take a look at these names," he said, sliding the pad onto the table. "Check off anyone you're connected to. You're not snitching, but I need to know if there's any chance Dent can tie you to Vice."

Pham didn't budge. Outside, the pigeons edged closer to the ledge's lip as they braced for flight.

"You're young, Pham," the lawyer said, trying for reassurance. "You'll weather this."

Still nothing. Only when the pigeons took flight—wings thrumming against the air—did Pham finally turn. His gaze was steady, unreadable as he walked to the table. The legal pad glared bright yellow under the fluorescent light. The lawyer extended a sleek black pen with a polished silver tip that caught the overhead glow. Pham took it without a word, then dragged the metal chair away from the table, the legs grating against the floor.

"Dent's been shaking things up since he took over," the lawyer muttered, watching as Pham scanned the list. "My usual sources in the prosecutor's office have either been fired or transferred. It's made things…complicated."

The lawyer tilted his head slightly, puzzled by Pham's calmness. He wasn't fidgeting or worried, just…still. Before he could press further, the sharp wail of sirens echoed down the hallway. The lawyer turned, stepping to the door and cracking it open. Outside, a flurry of movement—officers sprinting past, keys jingling at their sides. He shut the door and turned back toward his client—then froze.

His breath caught in his throat as Pham sat at the table, his grip tightening around the pen, knuckles white. Then, in one swift motion, he drove it into his neck. A dark bloom spread beneath his collar, slow at first, then gushing down his chest, soaking into the pale blue of his uniform. The pen slipped from his fingers, its silver tip catching the light—wet and gleaming. 

The lawyer stumbled back, his voice strangled. "No—no, no! Help!"

He lunged for the door, flinging it open. "Help! We need help in here!"

When officers arrived, Pham was slumped in his chair, motionless. The fluorescent light overhead flickered once before steadying.

Black Converse, soaked to the sole, were carelessly discarded near the coffee table where a leather satchel lay sprawled across a chaotic mess of newspapers. A step away, a pair of damp blue jeans lay crumpled on the floor. The television blared at near-max volume, but its voices were lost beneath the steady hiss of a running shower. When the water finally shut off, the news anchors' words filled the loft, bouncing off the high ceilings.

"This is devastating news, an absolutely tragic development. For those just tuning in, we have disturbing updates out of Uptown concerning four of the ten GCPD officers arrested on multiple charges…"

Perez burst out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped tightly around her torso, a toothbrush still in her mouth. She plopped onto the coffee table, leaning forward, water dripping from her damp hair as she focused on the broadcast.

"Vicki Vale is live in Robbinsville. Vicki, what can you tell us?" the male anchor asked.

"Hi, Tom. I'm standing across the street from Uptown's main holding facility where four officers have been found dead under unclear circumstances. Authorities have not yet confirmed details, but sources indicate an ongoing internal investigation. I've reached out to both Commissioner Loeb's office and Uptown's A.D.A. Harvey Dent for comment. Neither have responded, though statements are expected shortly. We did receive word from District Attorney Tobias Liech, who had this to say:

'As District Attorney of Gotham City, I make it my personal commitment to ensure that all prosecutorial offices across the city act in a manner that respects and encourages inter-agency cooperation. GCPD is one of our most respected institutions, and my office is devastated by these developments. We must remember that all individuals are innocent until proven guilty. My thoughts and prayers are with the families of these officers. To ensure that true justice is served, our office will work closely with our Uptown branch to prevent future incidents like this from occurring.'"

Perez rolled her eyes, muttering around the toothbrush. "Fucking lackey."

As the segment droned on, her phone rang. She shuffled to the side table, grabbed an old coffee cup, and spat out the toothpaste before answering.

"Well, shit, Sam, hello to you too," she said dryly, cradling the receiver as her editor barked on the other end.

"Sam, if I knew they were arresting cops, I would've written about it."

Perez sighed over the phone, "No one will talk, Sam."

She sat on the sofa, throwing her head back. "Because I know Chief Bronson. He'll keep a tight leash on them—plus his guys are loyal, and the ones who are loyal to Loeb won't talk either."

Her head shot forward and her face twisted with annoyance, "Flirt with them? Is that how you got your job, Sammy? You bat your lashes at the boys?"

She smirked and shook her head.

"If I did that, these guys would never take me seriously. And I don't get my stories lying on my back."

She sighed. "Yeah, I know Dent. He owes me. But I'm not burning a favor on a story that's already out."

She glared at her phone, "Is your answer to everything tits and ass?"

She shook her head, "No, they don't always work, and you keep that up, and I'll find a new paper to work for, Sam."

Her pager buzzed in her purse, cutting through the call. She fished it out, glancing at the number. Tossing the pager onto the table, she sighed. "I'll find my own story… Gotta go." She hung up before Sam could respond, then dialed the number from her pager.

The phone rang three times before someone answered.

"Mei?" Perez said, her voice sharpening.

"Hey, Mari," Mei's voice came through shaky and nervous. "I don't have much time. I've got class soon. I—I just wanted to tell you something. But I'm worried it'll come back to me."

"You tell me things all the time, and nothing ever comes back to you." Perez reassured her, grabbing a pen.

"I know, but this time it's different," she said.

"I'm good at protecting my sources. You know that."

"It's just…" Mei hesitated, the background noise of passing cars filling the silence. "If my aunt finds out, I don't know."

Perez's brow furrowed. "Mei, you can trust me. Whatever it is, I'll make sure there's no way it gets back to you."

There was a long silence.

"I just don't want them to arrest him," Mei blurted, her words quick and breathless. "I know they say it's impossible, that he's too quick, but…" She trailed off again.

Perez's eyes widened as realization clicked. She grabbed her purse and yanked out a notepad.

"Do you think...maybe you could warn him?" Mei added hesitantly.

"Tell me what you know," Perez said, her tone urgent.