Collateral Damage
John
The wind whipped her violently red hair around her face as she glanced behind once more, a smile on her lips. Our eyes met for a moment as my lungs expanded and contracted, breathing quickly. A part of me wanted to, needed to, chase her down again and confiscate the package. That’s my job. The girl is a criminal and I’m a crime fighter. But I found my feet glued to the fire escape, watching her run out of the alley.
This city is a breeding ground for organized crime: black market trade, drugs, and violence. Crime bosses fight each other for territory and production, enlisting the help of hundreds of the city’s immoral and poor to their armies. They make deliveries of drugs, other outlawed goods, and money. Although driven to these positions by the city’s recession and ever increasing unemployment rate, these people choose a life of crime, knowing full-well the potential risks and benefits.
But Ana is different. She isn’t a low-life, piece of scum like the rest of them. She’s just a kid. The ID card in her bag is from the Gotham City Children’s Shelter, which means, like me, she has no parents. She is an orphan, driven by survival to become a paid criminal for Carmine Falcone.
Losing that package could be a death sentence for Ana. So against all of my training and morals, I watched her swift feet carry her out of the alley.
___
“How many times do I have to tell you?” He growled. “If you are pursuing a criminal, you’re supposed to call it in and then we rendezvous and work together.” He thrust his finger, first at me, then to the interactive map of Gotham City on the large screen. “I thought you were going to be more responsible.” I noticed that his suit was already put away and he had changed back into jeans and a dark grey t-shirt, realizing with surprise how quickly he had beaten me back to the mansion.
I pulled my hood down and slid the mask off my face before falling into a seat in front of one of a dozen computers. “Relax.” I sighed, swiveling around to face him. “It was just a girl.” His face twisted from frustration to confusion as I tossed the girl’s bag to him.
He caught the bag and turned to dump its contents on a table behind him. “Anastasia Peterson. Seventeen years old.” I explained, watching him pick through her few belongings. A small black wallet, a leather bound notebook, two packs of poptarts, and a small wooden, shaped trinket.
He looked over at me, mildly surprised. “A kid? Why chase a kid?”
Running my hand through my damp hair, I nodded. “I saw her come out of the Stacked Club. I didn’t know she was a kid… She had a package.”
“So you followed her?” He asked, examining her ID card, adding, “Without calling it in.”
I sucked my teeth, ignoring his tone. “Yeah. I followed her to the East End to some scummy bar.”
He glanced over at me, leaning on the table. “And you intercepted her? What was she carrying?” His gaze fell back to the table, looking for something incriminating.
“I don’t know.” I bit my lip. “She got away.”
Bruce turned to face me. “She got away?” He studied my expression before glancing down at the ID card. “This… five-foot-two, 110 pound girl… got away from you?”
I shuffled my feet and the chair creaked. “She was fast.”
Bruce let out a deep breath and turned back to look through the girl’s belongings. “You let her go.” It wasn’t a question.
Pushing myself out of the chair, I walked over to the table. “What would you have done? Taken the drugs, or money, or whatever it was, out of her hands? By force?” Leaning forward over the table, I looked across at Bruce. He was holding the wooden trinket in his hand, turning it over, examining it from each angle. His eyebrows knitted together as he stared at it, a look of incredulity on his face. “Bruce?” I prompted. Ignoring me, he set the trinket down and reached for the leather bound notebook.
“I tried to talk to her…” I started, as he opened the notebook, studying the first page. “Tell her that she didn’t have to live this way… but, she told me I couldn’t understand.” Flashes of her bright red hair and her dark blue eyes infiltrated my memory and my stomach lurched. Recognizing the feeling, I shifted my feet and shook her image out of my head, embarrassed.
Bruce’s eyes flicked up to mine for a second, but as he looked back down to the notebook and turned the page, a small photograph slipped out and fell onto the table. It caught my attention and I saw the striking face of a young, blonde woman. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and she has some kind of headband on her forehead. She was smiling, a bright blue sky behind her. But before I could discern anything else from the photo, Bruce snatched it, staring at it with wide eyes.
I looked up at him, perplexed by his reaction to the photograph. Bruce spun around quickly, his back to me. “Bruce?” I asked, my eyes narrowing in confusion. Other than the sound of the beeps and blips of the main computer, the room was silent.
Taking a few steps around the table, I walked towards him. “Bruce,” I insisted. “What is it?”
I could see him swallow and he blinked a few times before ripping his gaze from the photo to look back at me. “Did this girl tell you anything else? Anything personal?” He asked, his blue eyes wide and his tone sharp. I must have stared at him for a moment, trying to understand. “Anything about her family?” He turned the photo towards me.
Letting out a deep breath, I shook my head. “No. Nothing.” My mind replayed the memories, searching for anything Ana may have let slip during out encounter. “I only talked to her for a few minutes. But her ID card… Gotham City Children Center.” I nodded towards the table again where her ID card lied face up. “She doesn’t have any family, Bruce.”
Turning back to the table, Bruce set the photo down and picked up the ID card again, scrutinizing the small photo of Ana. Eventually, he lifted his gaze back to me. “Everyone’s got family, John.”
I sighed, feeling patronized. “I understand that. But obviously her parents are gone. Dead or missing, who knows? Maybe they abandoned her.” I said, throwing my hands up. “What’s it matter, anyway?”
Bruce began collecting all of the girl’s possessions and returns them to the bag. The only items he left out were the ID card and the small wooden trinket. He pocketed them and hoisted the bag over his shoulder. “Grab something from the kitchen, if you’d like. Then go home, John. It’s a school night.” I watched him incredulously as he made his way across the room towards the stainless steel elevator doors. “Oh,” He started, turning to look back at me. “You’re on probation, kid. This is a dangerous gig. If you remain as reckless as you were tonight, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
The elevator doors opened and Bruce walked in. “Where are you going?” I asked
He pressed a button and the elevator doors began to shut. “Go home, John.” He said again before the doors closed and he disappeared.
___
“You can’t be too careful anymore, when all that is waiting for you, won’t come any closer. You’ve got to reach a little more.” –Paramore ‘Careful’
This city is a breeding ground for organized crime: black market trade, drugs, and violence. Crime bosses fight each other for territory and production, enlisting the help of hundreds of the city’s immoral and poor to their armies. They make deliveries of drugs, other outlawed goods, and money. Although driven to these positions by the city’s recession and ever increasing unemployment rate, these people choose a life of crime, knowing full-well the potential risks and benefits.
But Ana is different. She isn’t a low-life, piece of scum like the rest of them. She’s just a kid. The ID card in her bag is from the Gotham City Children’s Shelter, which means, like me, she has no parents. She is an orphan, driven by survival to become a paid criminal for Carmine Falcone.
Losing that package could be a death sentence for Ana. So against all of my training and morals, I watched her swift feet carry her out of the alley.
___
“How many times do I have to tell you?” He growled. “If you are pursuing a criminal, you’re supposed to call it in and then we rendezvous and work together.” He thrust his finger, first at me, then to the interactive map of Gotham City on the large screen. “I thought you were going to be more responsible.” I noticed that his suit was already put away and he had changed back into jeans and a dark grey t-shirt, realizing with surprise how quickly he had beaten me back to the mansion.
I pulled my hood down and slid the mask off my face before falling into a seat in front of one of a dozen computers. “Relax.” I sighed, swiveling around to face him. “It was just a girl.” His face twisted from frustration to confusion as I tossed the girl’s bag to him.
He caught the bag and turned to dump its contents on a table behind him. “Anastasia Peterson. Seventeen years old.” I explained, watching him pick through her few belongings. A small black wallet, a leather bound notebook, two packs of poptarts, and a small wooden, shaped trinket.
He looked over at me, mildly surprised. “A kid? Why chase a kid?”
Running my hand through my damp hair, I nodded. “I saw her come out of the Stacked Club. I didn’t know she was a kid… She had a package.”
“So you followed her?” He asked, examining her ID card, adding, “Without calling it in.”
I sucked my teeth, ignoring his tone. “Yeah. I followed her to the East End to some scummy bar.”
He glanced over at me, leaning on the table. “And you intercepted her? What was she carrying?” His gaze fell back to the table, looking for something incriminating.
“I don’t know.” I bit my lip. “She got away.”
Bruce turned to face me. “She got away?” He studied my expression before glancing down at the ID card. “This… five-foot-two, 110 pound girl… got away from you?”
I shuffled my feet and the chair creaked. “She was fast.”
Bruce let out a deep breath and turned back to look through the girl’s belongings. “You let her go.” It wasn’t a question.
Pushing myself out of the chair, I walked over to the table. “What would you have done? Taken the drugs, or money, or whatever it was, out of her hands? By force?” Leaning forward over the table, I looked across at Bruce. He was holding the wooden trinket in his hand, turning it over, examining it from each angle. His eyebrows knitted together as he stared at it, a look of incredulity on his face. “Bruce?” I prompted. Ignoring me, he set the trinket down and reached for the leather bound notebook.
“I tried to talk to her…” I started, as he opened the notebook, studying the first page. “Tell her that she didn’t have to live this way… but, she told me I couldn’t understand.” Flashes of her bright red hair and her dark blue eyes infiltrated my memory and my stomach lurched. Recognizing the feeling, I shifted my feet and shook her image out of my head, embarrassed.
Bruce’s eyes flicked up to mine for a second, but as he looked back down to the notebook and turned the page, a small photograph slipped out and fell onto the table. It caught my attention and I saw the striking face of a young, blonde woman. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and she has some kind of headband on her forehead. She was smiling, a bright blue sky behind her. But before I could discern anything else from the photo, Bruce snatched it, staring at it with wide eyes.
I looked up at him, perplexed by his reaction to the photograph. Bruce spun around quickly, his back to me. “Bruce?” I asked, my eyes narrowing in confusion. Other than the sound of the beeps and blips of the main computer, the room was silent.
Taking a few steps around the table, I walked towards him. “Bruce,” I insisted. “What is it?”
I could see him swallow and he blinked a few times before ripping his gaze from the photo to look back at me. “Did this girl tell you anything else? Anything personal?” He asked, his blue eyes wide and his tone sharp. I must have stared at him for a moment, trying to understand. “Anything about her family?” He turned the photo towards me.
Letting out a deep breath, I shook my head. “No. Nothing.” My mind replayed the memories, searching for anything Ana may have let slip during out encounter. “I only talked to her for a few minutes. But her ID card… Gotham City Children Center.” I nodded towards the table again where her ID card lied face up. “She doesn’t have any family, Bruce.”
Turning back to the table, Bruce set the photo down and picked up the ID card again, scrutinizing the small photo of Ana. Eventually, he lifted his gaze back to me. “Everyone’s got family, John.”
I sighed, feeling patronized. “I understand that. But obviously her parents are gone. Dead or missing, who knows? Maybe they abandoned her.” I said, throwing my hands up. “What’s it matter, anyway?”
Bruce began collecting all of the girl’s possessions and returns them to the bag. The only items he left out were the ID card and the small wooden trinket. He pocketed them and hoisted the bag over his shoulder. “Grab something from the kitchen, if you’d like. Then go home, John. It’s a school night.” I watched him incredulously as he made his way across the room towards the stainless steel elevator doors. “Oh,” He started, turning to look back at me. “You’re on probation, kid. This is a dangerous gig. If you remain as reckless as you were tonight, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
The elevator doors opened and Bruce walked in. “Where are you going?” I asked
He pressed a button and the elevator doors began to shut. “Go home, John.” He said again before the doors closed and he disappeared.
___
“You can’t be too careful anymore, when all that is waiting for you, won’t come any closer. You’ve got to reach a little more.” –Paramore ‘Careful’