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This is a momentous day in Gotham. But Alex Knox doesn't know that. He knows that it's a sad day. CIRCUS TRAGEDY is spelled out in big letters on the front page of all the papers. Three dead, one teenaged boy left all alone. Sad, and (given Gotham) probably suspicious.

But as for how Dick Grayson is and who he might be, that is something Knox can't know.

Come say hi.

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"Alex Knox, 1995.

"So they pin it on Zucco. Guess I have to wait for that happen. Can't exactly use a tip from Milliways as a news source." He figures anyone can understand what he means.

"You can't call it an anonymous source you have to protect?" Renee asks. "Or maybe just call someone as an anonymous tip-off."

"I could. But I don't know what good that will do. It's better to find a source within the department and follow that path.

"Not that the honest cops ever talk to me. Or if they do, they use platitudes from morning to night." Always good for a bad quote, he once said in his youth.

"That's because honest reporters are as thin on the ground in Gotham as honest cops," Renee points out bluntly.

"Hey, we tend to tell the truth." Pause. "Though some of us just tell some of it. But we don't like to lie. Makes us look bad when someone's caught.

"And I, Ms Montoya, pride myself on being honest." He still has that medal Rachel gave him long ago calling him a defender of truth. And still cherishes it.

"You gotta be a cop, right?"

It's less telling the truth as who the truth gets told to and for how much.

"Not anymore," Renee says wryly. "Guess I got fed up of what the job was doing to me."

"Yeah, I don't envy any of you. I used to date a Fed and she was always telling me she looked forward to the day she could either settle into a desk job in DC or get a nice cushy consultant's fee. And she wasn't under half the pressure you guys are.

"Especially if you're honest." He hopes she is. She doesn't sound bent, and in Gotham the bent cops don't usually pretend not to be.

"Yeah, we had a special kind of crime," Renee replies. And scowls.

"Not that I want to talk about it. I left that city for a reason."

"Fair enough." For now. He just met her. That gets her a Get Out Knox Annoying You for Free card.

"Where you live now?"

"North Carolina," Renee answers. "When I'm not living out of a suitcase. I travel a lot."

"Sounds like that could be fun. Sometimes. Getting away from Gotham is always good.

"But I think they'll bury me there. As rotten as it is, it's home to me. I thrive on it. The restaurants, the crowds, the bat. Where else but Gotham?" There's always Beirut, he thinks cynically, but holds that thought back.

"Metropolis?" Renee offers. "I hear they have all that and a cape that actually smiles occasionally."

"Too clean. Too shiny. Too bland. And sure, everyone loves the big red S. But he's dull." Also, Lane gets all the good stories and always will. "I hear Central's nice, though. All kinds of crazy costumes and names to go with the Flash." His Gotham hasn't managed to develop the number of villains most others have.

"Yes," Renee says dryly, but smirking. "Nothing like a having a fun and exciting variety of ways for people to kill you."

"A fun and exciting variety of people to write about. And everyone loves a hero beats villain story. It's what sells papers." The most copies of his old paper that had been sold since JFK's death came the morning after Batman killed the Joker.

"As long as you can stay out of being the story," Renee allows.

"I try, don't worry about that.

"Well, except that one time. But that was it." He smiles cryptically.

"What time?"

She asks directly. Got to ask the question, right?

Like he didn't want her to ask.

"When the Joker and his men went on their insane night out, I tried to defend a friend with a bat. A baseball bat. That didn't go so well.

"And someone included my name on the list of the wounded the next day. Since then, I am happy to let the professionals play footsy with the mobs."

"You say 'insane night out' like it's singular."

"Yeah, we got lucky. Joker was dead. And stayed that way. Not that I don't still think his body wasn't stolen from the morgue. But he's never come back." Dead means dead, as far as anyone can tell.

"I get the sense from some things I've heard here that not every Gotham is so lucky."

"That's good," Renee says. "For you guys, at least. Did he rack up a large death toll in that night?"

"Around 40 or 50. He threw a parade, since the city cancelled the bicentennial bash. And promised to give out free money. Which he did. Phoney money.

"And then came the smilex gas. Fortunately, Batman swooped in in his crazy jet and...well, I'm not sure what he did, but the gas went elsewhere." Out to sea? Nah, then you'd get Joker fish or something. "Too late for some, though. And a lot of us took a whiff or two of the gas."

Renee winces, and tries not to act like 40 or 50 is a small number. It's not, for one night. But for the Joker's entire career?

Yeah.

"It's not good stuff, even at low dosage."

"Yeah, I know it. And I think that there were side effects. Lots of people in Gotham who aren't entirely with it from time to time. Like the whole town is just a little crazy." Pause. "Crazier."