The guards at Blackgate are starting to know him by sight. There are no pleasantries exchanged (unless the occasional sneered “Mr. Shore” can be considered a pleasantry) or special privileges accorded (although this is Gotham-there are some who’d say emerging unscathed from one of its prisons is a special privilege), but he’s now a known quantity,
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Which raises the question: what's in it for him?
"I'll try to be gentler than your last partner," he says, and although both voice and expression remain impassive, his jaw does clench. "What happened?"
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"Business," he repeats, flatly. "Here's a notion, if I may be so bold: how about we set business aside for the moment and instead divert ourselves with cobbling together a defense that might allow us to postpone your departure from this earth?"
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