>>5858772>>5858792>>5858820>>5858895>>5858972>>5859183>>5859293>>5859532Your fingers rapidly bounce off the glass screen of your phone as you type out:
"Sorry, The commander would chew me out if I so much as read the cover of a case right now. You know how it is. Once my leave is over though, sure. i wouldn't mind lending a hand."
You hit send and before you can even pocket your phone a buzz hits it. You check and see a single thumbs up emoji. You stuff the phone and get on with the rest of your day.
You're going to be free until night and it only seems like things are going to be ramping up from here. You have one more day of medical suspension then after tomorrow you'll be back on the beat, Gotham won't cut you any slack and the situation with SIM just seems to be escalating, you figure there isn't a better time to sharpen up your skills at the range. You can't act as a GCPD officer in any cases but you still enjoy the perks of being an Officer, including access to the Gotham Armory and Firing Range. The drive is a little out of the way but you figure it doesn't matter much with all the free time on your hands. Walking inside you hand over your ID and recite your badge number to a bored looking front desk worker before being let into the back.
"DeLucia. Hawthorne's runt." You hear a voice call from across a room, if driving on a gravel road could be an accent it would be this man's. You look and see an older man looking at you from behind a counter, racks of shotguns, rifles, and assorted long guns mounted behind him, he drops a rag and waves you over. As you approach you smell something sharp and pungent. He notices your expression and gives a chuckle that sounds like it may erupt into a coughing fit at any second.
"Apologies, kid. The grease I use for these things is a house blend, a little strong when the whole can is left open. He peels a stained blue glove from his hand and offers it to you, you shake and pull away with a layer of cold sweat now wrapped around your fingers, he peels off the other glove and gets to work sealing what looks to be a small paint can. You can't help but notice the grease smears and powder marking all over the lower half of his, otherwise, neat and crisp dress shirt.
"Sorry, Sir, but have we met before?"
He shakes his head, his glasses loosely wobbling from side to side.
"Nuh uh. I've seen pictures though, from Mitch."
"You know Hawthorne then? Also, wait, what pictures?"
He grunts in affirmation as he digs in the pocket of a coat laid sloppily over the glass counter. He taps the screen a few times and turns it to face you.
"This is you, right?"
