Summary- Information can be gained through all sorts of means.

Disclaimer- The characters of Batman Begins and The Dark Knight belong to Christopher Nolan, Jonathan Nolan, David Goyer, Bob Kane, and other associated with the creation of the world of Gotham. I do not own the character. I merely dabble in the world.

Talia Ducard looked out of place at Last Call. It as a less-than-classy bar, a frequent haunt of many an overworked police offer. Staff served alcohol and a few food items every hour of every day. Anyone on the force, active or retired, got half-priced food and drink. The eastern wall stood as a monument, displaying the photographs and badges of every cop killed in the course of duty. The patrons wore jeans and t-shirts or suits that seen better days. Unless they were helping in some sort of fundraiser, the likes of Bruce Wayne rarely made an appearance, and the tabloids had been quick to link the names of Bruce Wayne and Talia Ducard.

A man downed his fourth beer. Not only was it half-priced, but the lady had insisted on paying. He knew that look in her eye, and a grin spread across his features. She was bored, looking for a roll in the hay with someone more exciting— more dangerous— than a pretty-boy billionaire. She wanted a real man.

The first three beers had gone down easy with conversation. She was fascinated by him. She'd listened to his martial problems, exaggerated though they might have been, but he hadn't dwelt on that. He'd regaled her with his account of arrested Jonathan Crane not once but twice, his valiant efforts to save the poisoned Narrows, how he'd just missed being part of the security detail to protect Harvey Dent after his arrest. The mob, he'd assured the woman, would never have gotten near Dent on his watch.

"Last cop to die in that whole fiasco was Wuertz, poor bastard," he said as he drank. He'd told her about Commissioner Loeb and the attempt on the mayor as well as all the other havoc the Joker had caused. "Shot by the Bat. I say anyone who says Wuertz was dirty is full of shit."

He liked the way she smiled at that, all sympathy for a good cop maligned because it was easier. The car had been hijacked. That was Wuertz's story, and he believed it.

"The Bat?" she parroted in that hot accent of hers.

"The Batman," he said. Maybe if he gave her another story, she'd finally suggest they hit a motel. It wouldn't be the gentlemanly thing to do for him to ask her. "Thorn in the side of every cop in Gotham. Except Gordon." He shook his head. "Excuse me— Commissioner Gordon."

"What does this 'Batman' do?"

"Vigilante, runs around in a nutty costume. Used to just pound a few perps, deliver 'em to us. That was bad enough, making us look like idiots. Now? The psycho just kills 'em." He leaned back. "Shot Wuertz and a driver, left the passenger— big-time mob boss— dead too."

"That is very strange."

"Don't you worry, doll. I won't let him get a cute little thing like you." He thought he saw her frown. Modest type, he figured.

"I saw him." She tilted her head. "He was attempted to arrest a criminal. If he had— how do you say it?— escalated would he not just have killed them?"

"He's a loon," the officer announced. "Even Gordon's admitted it. We run into the Bat, we bring him in for murder."

Talia stood up. Her accent was far less noticeable. "Pardon me, it's getting late. I should go."

"C'mon, doll." He smiled at her. She didn't smile back.

"You should go home to your wife, Officer Kline."