Sure enough, as Jim suspected, the Red Hood Gang struck again. And as he watched the footage from the next bank, he held back a sigh, watching as again, they had the same motive. Rob the registers and throw about half the money back to the people of Gotham. "And then there were four," Jim muttered, pausing the footage. "People are gonna hang out in banks waiting for handouts from these idiots," Harvey slammed the newspaper onto his desk. "We're never gonna catch a crew no one wants us to catch. Call me old-fashioned, but when crooks become more popular than cops, that's anarchy,"

"Think about it. As long as somebody's willing to put that red hood on, this gang can go on forever," Jim spoke. Harvey rolled his eyes at the thought of that happening. He'd be damned if he'd have to work a repeat case with the same gang. The Spirit of The Goat was one thing; The Red Hood Gang was another. "Hey, guys. Got somebody here you might want to meet," Alvarez stopped by the detective's desks, a short older gentleman trailing behind him. "This is Mister..." "Chaing," The older man finished Alvarez's sentence. "Chaing, right. He's an eyewitness," 

"From the bank?" Harvey asked. With everybody expecting handouts from the Red Hood gang and spending to their heart's content, it was surprising that somebody was coming forward to help them. "I work at a restaurant a block away. The Red Hood Gang parked their van there this morning. I was throwing out the trash when they ran back to it," Mr. Chaing explained to the two detectives. "Did you see their faces?" Jim asked. "Just one, the fat one with the hood. He took it off to drive," Mr. Chaing clarified.

"I'll get the sketch artist," Harvey said. "Well, wait a minute," Jim stepped in front of him. "We've got the armed robbery files already open, maybe he can look through them and see if he recognizes someone," Jim suggested. "Maybe that someone is a known associate of Gus Floyd," Harvey caught on. "But the only problem is records are kind of old; he might look different now," Jim pointed out. "We could pull a few based on Chaing's description and get ourselves a good old-fashioned line-up," As the two detectives were about to do just that, Mr. Chaing stopped them, asking what was in it for him. "I've got all these parking tickets because my ex-wife is a crazy bitch,"

"We'll see what we can do," Jim assured.

~~~~~~~~~

Bruce's face glistened with sweat as he finished his afternoon run, in preparation for his training with Alfred. He wiped his brow with the long sleeve of his sweatshirt before opening the back door into the hallway. His heart pounded a thousand miles an hour as if he had been running his whole life. It may seem like a lot of pointless training to some, but to Bruce, it was the thrill of a lifetime. "Training for a fight?" Reggie asked him, gesturing to the boxing gloves sitting next to Bruce. "Just training with Alfred," Bruce answered.

"Ah, he's a good choice," Reggie nodded in approval. "How about you show me your stance?" Upon hearing this offer, Bruce stood in front of the older man, feet shoulder-width apart. Reggie took off his blazer, hanging it off the end of the staircase railing before he too, entered his fighting stance. "Good," Reggie nodded approvingly. "Now, hit me," Not wasting another precious second, Bruce swung at him, but Reggie was quick to dodge. "Again," But this time, Bruce looked a bit hesitant.  "Don't hold back. You have a go at me, son," Reggie persisted.

As Bruce swung at him again, Reggie swung his arm back, knocking Bruce onto the ground. Bruce picked himself off the floor, his eyes widened with a mix of shock and anger. "It should take more than that to piss you off, son. Come on. Again!" Reggie advised. They got back into their stances, and the swinging of arms continued, and the more Bruce missed his target, the more agitated he became. "Now, now. Never lose your cool. It'll get you killed," Reggie said, pinning Bruce's arms behind his back. "Now, you wanna hit me, right?" Bruce struggled to break free, but Reggie's grip only tightened. "You wanna hit me, right?!"

Realizing he wasn't going out of his current position without giving a response, Bruce quickly nodded, and Reggie let him go. "Okay, take a swing," Bruce aimed right for Reggie's nose, making the older man lose his footing for the briefest moment. But Reggie did not seem phased by the blow at all. "Somebody gives you a free shot, you got to make it count. You hit me as hard as you can!" Bruce punched him harder, but Reggie kept urging Bruce to hit him harder. Finally, Bruce caved in and hit him harder, Reggie's nose turning red from the blows. "Oh. Better! Put your shoulder behind it. Put your full body weight behind it!"

Bruce could see the hint of craziness in Reggie's eyes. As if he actually enjoyed being hit in the face. "Come on, harder! Put me on my back, son!" Reggie egged him on. "But you're so much bigger than me!" Bruce shouted. "Then use that to your advantage! You hit me low! Hit me in the knee, the ankle! Forget about the gloves! Use whatever's around you," Reggie glanced about the hallway before he grabbed a few walking sticks resting inside a vase. He tossed one over to Bruce. But before either of them could get very far, Alfred, who had been watching all this from upstairs, finally intervened.

"Right! That's enough of that," He spoke warningly. "Perhaps a shower's in order, Master Bruce," "M... Mr. Payne was showing me some alternative methods," Bruce tried to explain. "Yeah, I can see that, can't I? Not methods that fit into our curriculum, though, are they?" Alfred raised a brow. "No, they're not, but they're effective," Bruce reasoned.  "Discipline, skill, and hard work are effective," Alfred contradicted. "How 'bout I start that shower for you, sir?" But Bruce just shook his head, handing the walking stick back to Alfred before he stormed down the hall. "You ever raised a child before, Reg?" Alfred turned towards Reggie.

"No," Reggie grew quiet. "It's the hardest job I've ever had to do in my life. Nothing prepares you for it," Alfred sighed. "Listen, I'm sorry if I overstepped the mark. I was just... It was obvious how much you've helped him, so..." "No, he helped me," Alfred corrected. "I'm a better person for knowing him, Reg. Let's keep our past where it belongs. In the past," 

~~~~~~~~~

It had been eerily quiet around the apartment after Jim and Holly left, and while Selina never wanted to admit it out loud for fear of being considered weak, she was worried about Holly. And wherever she was with her dad now, it was hopefully a lot better being cooped up in her room, blocking out everything around her. Selina walked onto the balcony, quietly watching as Barbara looked out into her city, nursing her gin and tonic. "You okay?" Selina spoke up, making Barbara turn towards her. "Of course," Barbara tried to smile, but the pain in her voice was still evident. "Thank you for letting us stay here. Sorry, it got a little messy," Selina spoke. "I was just about to go,"

"I like having you girls here," Barbara admitted. "You know, you're turning into quite the beautiful woman," Selina shook her head in denial, insisting she wasn't, but Barbara continued. "Remove the dirt, that old hood, these ratty clothes, and I bet we find a princess underneath..." Barbara reached for Selina's hood, but the young girl flinched and pulled away. "I have an idea, come with me," Selina followed Barbara back inside the apartment, and she and Ivy sat on the couch, both wondering what Barbara was up to, soon she returned with arms full of designer shirts, pants, and dresses. "Holy moly..." Ivy gaped.

"Take anything that fits you guys," Barbara offered. This is all stuff you've worn?" Selina asked. "Most of it," Barbara clarified. "You sure must go out a lot," Ivy said as she picked up and admired a shimmering dark green and gold jacket. "I used to before Holly was born," Barbara's face fell at the mention of her daughter and the morning's earlier events. But as Selina kept glancing at some of the sparking classic evening dresses, Barbara picked up one of the garments and ushered her towards the mirror.

"You're a true beauty," Barbara rested a hand on Selina's shoulder. "Something you can use to your advantage. Your appearance can be a weapon as powerful as any knife or gun," Selina stared into the mirror, absorbing Barbara's words as she held a dark evening gown at her neck. "Yeah?" Selina inquired as she turned around. "What good's it done you?" Barbara's face etched with hurt upon hearing that comment, but as Selina walked away, Barbara stood by her word. And maybe... just maybe, Selina would take her advice and come crawling back.

~~~~~~~~~

With Jim keeping his word to sort out Mr. Chaing's parking tickets, Harvey and Jim had spent hours upon hours gathering up their potential suspects, and as the group of six different men lined up behind the screen, Mr. Chaing squinted as he looked at each man. With them all varying in height, body weight, and facial structure, Jim and Harvey figured it wouldn't take long for something to ring Mr. Chaing's bell. "I thought they were going to be similar types," Jim whispered to Harvey. "They are," Harvey nodded. "Uh-huh. Look closely, Mr. Chaing," Jim turned to the older gentleman.

"I know how this works," Mr. Chaing insisted. "There. Number four. The short, fat one," He pointed to the glass. "You sure?" Jim double-checked. "That's your Red Hood. Threw all that money away, and I didn't get a cent," Mr. Chaing commented. "Clyde Destro, 47 years old, conviction for assault and armed robbery of a convenience store three years ago," Harvey read from the file.  "Let's book him," "Wait a minute. All we have is one witness outside of the crime scene, that's it," Jim reminded him. "Now, Floyd was killed, so we know they're turning on each other," "So, we let Destro go?" Harvey inquired. "And tail him. He takes us to the other gang members, and we use them against each other,"

"We catch the Red Hood Gang red-handed," A slight smirk of satisfaction formed on Harvey's lips. "That's right," Jim confirmed. "Can I get a ride home?" Mr. Chaing asked, swallowing the last of his coffee. "My girlfriend will freak out if I turn up in a patrol car," With a quiet sigh, Jim and Harvey arranged for Alvarez to escort Mr. Chaing back to his residence, and as the six suspects were led out of the line-up room, it was only a matter of time before the Red Hood gang was trapped in a corner.

~~~~~~~~~

The evening thunder rumbled outside Wayne Manor as Alfred and Reggie sat at the dining table, quietly talking to each other. And the more they talked, the more they seemed to forget about Reggie overstepping the boundaries. "I picked something out from the cellar. I hope that's okay," Bruce entered the dining room, clasping a bottle of old-fashioned wine. "Well, that's extremely kind of you, Master Bruce, but I don't think I'll be drinking this evening," Alfred declined. "I'm sure it's perfectly fine to have a glass of wine occasionally, Alfred," Bruce reasoned.  "I picked an old one. Seems a shame to let them gather dust down there,"

"Domaine de la Romany Comte," Reggie read the label, brushing away the dust. "It's a rather nice Burgundy, 1966," Alfred picked up the bottle with a contemplating glance. "It's one of your father's favorites. Why not, eh? Take a pew," Bruce eagerly sat at the table, watching as Alfred uncorked the bottle, pouring the wine into the glasses. "Cheers, mate," Reggie lifted his glass. "Now, the idea, of course, is to let it breathe for at least an hour," But Reggie quickly downed the first glass, a satisfied smile on his lips. "...Or not," Alfred finished. 

It wasn't long before Alfred and Reggie had downed the first bottle and were halfway through a second. It was rare that Bruce saw his butler have fun outside of his work. It was actually quite refreshing. "So, he eventually opened his backpack, and found the bloody snake! We'd been waiting for it all night, and he didn't even flinch!" Reggie chortled, as he retold one of his many military stories. "What'd you do?" Bruce asked Alfred. "Oh, you know, I chopped its head off, and we ate the bloody thing," Alfred smiled. "He did!" Reggie nodded gleefully. "What did it taste like?" Bruce inquired. "Uh, a bit like fast food. It was horrible, isn't it?" Alfred looked over to Reggie. 

"It was horrible. It was disgusting," Reggie confirmed, taking another sip from his glass. "So, Mr. Payne, you were in the Air Force?" Bruce questioned. "Special Air Service. SAS. Best soldiers in the world, if I'm being honest," Reggie explained. "So that means covert missions?" Bruce asked. "That's right.  Before a conflict, they dropped us behind enemy lines. We were quiet, precise, and deadly. We never lost a man, and we always completed our missions. Except that once, I guess,"

Alfred's nostalgic mood quickly shifted. Their past was supposed to stay in the past. He didn't mind the first couple of stories, but the more Reggie's tone grew serious and sinister, Alfred needed to shut it down. "Yeah, well, that's enough of the old war stories, eh, Reg?" He spoke subtly, hoping his buddy would take the hint. But Bruce's interest only piqued. "What one time?" he asked. "There was a sandstorm. We got separated, two of us were captured," Reggie continued. "You?" Bruce turned towards Alfred. But all Alfred could do was suppress that harsh memory as he stared into his half-full glass.

"He fought 12 of them off before they cut him down. Didn't you, Alf?" Reggie squinted. "I'm here now, aren't I? That's all that matters," Alfred replied. "All right, gents, while I have to say this has been lovely, I'd like to tidy up before I go to bed," "Heh, tidy up," Reggie scoffed. "Mr. "Yes Sir, No Sir"? Mr. "Queensberry Rules and Discipline?" "Thank you, that's enough," Alfred gave him a warning look, and Reggie backed down. "Alfred's right. It's time for bed," Bruce nodded in agreement.

Alfred and Bruce wished each other a good night, and as Bruce walked up the stairs towards his room, the butler turned his attention back to his old friend. "Why are you hiding from him what you really are, who you really are?" Reggie questioned. "You're a war dog, Alfie. You're a cold-blooded, lethal war dog, is what you are," But Alfred was not in the mood to indulge him further. This little reunion was nice while it lasted, but Alfred couldn't have a constant reminder of his past life. Not when he was currently focused on Bruce's future.

"I found some fresh clothes for you, Reg. I folded them, and I put 'em on your bed. And I've taken the liberty of packing you a lunch for your travels tomorrow," Alfred said. "It's been really nice to see you, Reggie," "I see them at night when I'm alone. The faces of those we killed. Do you?" Reggie asked. "I don't have to look for them, Reg. They find me," Alfred responded. With that final goodbye, Alfred retreated up the stairs, hoping to finally close this dark chapter.

~~~~~~~~~

With one member of the Red Hood gang on their radar, Jim and Harvey were trailing behind, following their suspect with every step he took. He seemed to go about his life like normal. They watched as he grabbed a coffee from one of the food trucks before he walked into one of the run-down bars. Surprisingly, there were already people who were desperate to drink their sorrows away so early in the day. But that gave the two detectives the perfect cover as they kept an eye out.

As the day turned into night, Jim and Harvey followed Destro back to his apartment, parking their car by the sidewalk as he walked into the building. They may not have caught him talking to other members of the Red Hood Gang in broad daylight, but who was to say they weren't already waiting for him inside the building? "How long are we gonna have to watch him? This is starting to get boring," Harvey complained, taking a sip from his flask. "Just wait a little longer," Jim said, not taking his eyes off Destro's apartment. The lights flickered on inside the apartment, and Destro's silhouette stood a couple of feet away from the window, and it looked like he was talking to someone.

Suddenly, two gunshots rang out, and Jim and Harvey immediately scrambled out of the car, up the stairs, and into the unlocked apartment. Destro was now lying on the ground, one hand clutching his chest and the other clutching his leg. Harvey bent down to check his pulse, and to both the detective's relief, he was still alive. While Harvey checked Destro, Jim looked out the open window, hearing the sounds of the metal fire escape rattling. Of course, whoever shot him didn't want to stick around and watch the fallout. "Who shot you, Destro? Give us the name of the guy," Harvey spoke, grabbing Destro by his shirt collar.

"I need an ambulance!" Destro groaned. "We'll get to that. Give us the names of the guys in your crew," Harvey repeated. "I'm bleeding out!" Destro insisted, the pool of blood growing larger underneath him. "Yeah, you're dying. And unfortunately, I'm not getting cell reception. You know what might help? Giving us the names of the guys in your crew!" Harvey yelled. Jim rolled his eyes as his partner continued to yell at the dying man. They couldn't let him die, no matter how much he refused to reveal the other members of the gang. "I need an ambulance. Java Heights and Homewood, apartment 466," Jim reached for his phone. If they couldn't get an ambulance, somebody from the GCPD could help.

"I might need some pressure on this wound," Destro tried to steady his breathing, but the shooting pain in both areas made it difficult. "Here, knock yourself out," Harvey tossed him a rag. Jim slipped his phone back into his pocket, noticing files upon files laid out on the table. "What do you got there, partner?" Harvey joined him at the table. "A stack of loan rejection letters from the banks that were robbed," Jim explained, picking up one of the files.

"Dear Mr. Destro, we regret to inform you your application for a loan has been denied." Jim read through some of the letters. "Mr. Destro, once again, we must deny your application, due to inadequate collateral."  "What the hell would he need a loan for?" Harvey inquired. "Pastry shop," Destro answered. "Get out of here. You're a baker?" Harvey turned to their suspect. "A damn good baker," Destro rasped. "And they all turned you down. So, these are revenge robberies?" Jim asked.

"Banks don't care about people like me. Or you, probably," Destro answered. "You have to force people to see you. Otherwise, you're nothing," "There's a third letter here. International Savings Bank of Gotham. This was the next target!" Jim pointed. "Where's my ambulance?!" Destro demanded. With all the info they managed to get out of their suspect, Jim and Harvey waited as the ambulance pulled up to the building to assist Destro to the hospital. With the final bank hit all but inevitable, Jim and Harvey drove back to the GCPD to gather back up. If they were finally going to catch the gang, they needed all the help they could get.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wayne Manor fell quiet as Alfred settled into his room for the night, his eyes growing droopy, desperate for a night of peaceful sleep. But just as he started getting comfortable, he heard a loud thud from downstairs. With his first instinct being the well-being of the young Wayne, Alfred jumped out of bed and walked towards Bruce's room. Fortunately, he was still fast asleep, but Alfred refused to believe everything was alright until he saw it himself. The thuds continued as the butler went downstairs, following the sounds towards the library. Turning on the lights, he stepped into the room, finding Reggie stuffing an empty pillowcase with anything he could find. "You're stealing from us?" He spoke.

Reggie slowly turned around, his face blank and remorseless. "You could have just asked me for money, Reg," Alfred sighed. "You don't know how hard that is, Alfie, do you?" Reggie shook his head. "We gave you somewhere to sleep. We put food in your belly," Alfred reminded as he stepped closer. "I'm in trouble. Real trouble," Reggie explained. "I don't need a lecture right now," Despite the shock and anger upon finding his old friend robbing the manor, Alfred still couldn't let his old friend suffer, not when he was already dealing with enough.

"What kind of trouble?" Alfred asked. "You don't want to know," Reggie assured. "Right. Well, you put the bag down, and you leave now," Alfred instructed, but Reggie kept glancing at the bag, refusing to let it go. "Did you bring a gun, Alfie?" Reggie questioned, stepping towards him. "No," Alfred answered, confused as to why he was asking such a question. "If there was any other way..." Reggie trailed off, his voice growing quieter as he stared at his feet. "Oh, come on, there's always another way, mate," Alfred assured. "I'm sorry..." Reggie apologized. 

"Sorry for?-" Before Alfred could even finish his sentence, he gasped as a shot of pain coursed through his body. Slowly looking down, shock and horror filled his eyes as Reggie plunged a knife into his abdomen. Alfred's mouth opened as he tried to plead with Reggie, but he choked on his words as blood started pooling into his mouth. As Alfred fell onto his knees, his haunted gaze still trying to pierce what was left of Reggie's good nature, Reggie pulled knife out of Alfred's body and grabbed the pillowcase, stepping over his friend.

"I'm so sorry," Reggie apologized again before disappearing into the night, leaving Alfred to face the darkness alone. But while Reggie made his great escape, the front door slammed shut, loud enough to wake Bruce out of his slumber. Not caring whether or not he tripped and fell down the steps, Bruce got up to investigate the noise, but as the lights from the library peered out into the hallway, he walked into the room, his heart dropped into his stomach as he found Alfred clinging to life. "Alfred!" Bruce called out, but the only response he got was Alfred's slowed breathing.

He reached for the phone and immediately dialed for an ambulance while trying to keep pressure on Alfred's wound. But the pool of blood on Alfred's shirt was growing larger and larger, and Alfred's eyes slowly started to flutter open and close. "Alfred, Alfred, look at me. You're gonna be okay! Alfred, stay with me. Please!" the young boy begged, praying that the only family he had left wouldn't leave him too.