Gotham – Saturday Morning – 10:13 a.m.
Frank Gallo was elbow-deep in tomato plants when the cops showed up.
He wore an old flannel with the sleeves rolled up, dirt under his fingernails, a tiny trowel in one hand. The garden bed behind the rundown East End apartment complex wasn't fancy—just a few rows of veggies and herbs he kept for tenants too old to climb stairs and too proud to ask for help.
Today was weeding day. And he was halfway through pulling crabgrass when someone shouted:
"Hands where I can see them!"
Frank didn't look up.
He sighed first.
Then he slowly stood, dirt falling from his hands like confetti at a funeral.
GCPD Officers at the Scene
Two patrol officers—one young, one older—stood by the chain-link fence, guns drawn but shaky.
Officer #1: "Is that him?"
Officer #2: "Yeah. That's the guy. The 'East End Reaper' or whatever they're calling him."
Frank: "…I'm gardening."
Officer #1: "Sure you are, tough guy."
Frank: "You want a zucchini?"
The Call That Triggered It
Apparently, a neighbor had called in a "suspicious man digging holes." Frank didn't ask who. He already knew.
Mrs. Harmon on the third floor never trusted him. She once reported him for "loitering" outside the building—he'd been fixing a gutter.
Another time, she called animal control because she thought Mr. Tibbles was a raccoon in a trench coat.
Frank didn't hold it against her. People saw what they wanted to see.
And what Gotham wanted to see… was a monster.
At the Precinct – Again
Montoya watched from the observation room as Frank sat silently in an interview chair. Same deadpan expression. Arms folded. A dirt-smudge on his jaw.
She leaned in the doorway.
Montoya: "You know he was planting tomatoes, right?"
Ramirez: "He had a shovel."
Montoya: "It's a garden shovel."
Ramirez: "You can still bury a body with that."
Montoya: "You really think Gallo's the type to commit murder in broad daylight, next to a grandma's compost pile?"
Ramirez (mumbling): "Maybe…"
She stepped into the room.
Montoya: "Frank."
Frank: "Detective."
Montoya: "I'd say it's good to see you, but you being here means Gotham's lost its mind again."
Frank: "Someone thought oregano was code for explosives."
Montoya: "It's not?"
Frank gave her a long, tired look. She almost laughed.
Coffee Break – Outside the Precinct
Montoya bought him a black coffee and a donut. They sat on a bench in silence for a while, watching pigeons fight over crumbs like little feathery gangsters.
Montoya: "You ever think of leaving Gotham?"
Frank: "Every day."
Montoya: "Then why stay?"
Frank: "Who's gonna carry Mrs. DiLorenzo's groceries?"
Montoya: "You ever think people might not want your help?"
Frank: "Yeah."
Montoya: "And that doesn't bother you?"
Frank: "It used to."
She nodded. That made sense. Frank wasn't stubborn. Just… resolved. Like a guy who'd already made peace with the world being broken.
Meanwhile – A Rooftop Conversation
Two men in cheap suits and bad shoes watched the building across the street through binoculars.
Suit #1: "That's him."
Suit #2: "Looks like he's just eating a donut."
Suit #1: "You ever see a normal guy eat a donut that slow?"
Suit #2: "That's vigilante behavior. Definitely. You see that dead stare? Like he's done things."
Suit #1: "Maybe he's planning to do things."
Suit #2: "Either way, Penguin wants intel."
They scribbled notes.
"Frank Gallo – potential solo operator. Danger level: ???"
Back Home – Later That Evening
Frank returned to his building to find a note taped to his door.
It was written in red crayon. Poor handwriting. Signed "Lil Joey."
"Mr. Frank, my mom said you're a mob. Are you gonna kill anyone this week? If you do can you not kill my friend Marcus he's small and cries a lot. Also thanks for fixing my bike. – Joey"
Frank stuck the note on his fridge.
Next to another one from a woman named Trina:
"You fixed my sink and I still think you're scary. But thank you. I guess. – T."
And another one:
"My dog likes you. That's the only reason I didn't call the cops. – Karen"
He looked at them for a long time.
Then turned back to his pot of soup.
The Truth About the Garden
Frank had started that garden three years ago.
First it was just basil and tomatoes, the way his mom used to grow on their windowsill in the old tenement. Then some old guy asked if he could plant peppers. A lady added lavender. Someone dropped off a birdbath.
Now it was a patch of calm in the middle of Gotham noise.
Frank didn't garden to prove anything.
He did it because plants didn't flinch when they saw him.
A New Rumor
The next day, someone posted a blurry photo of Frank kneeling over the garden bed. The caption read:
"New Vigilante Seen Burying Something in East End. Codenamed: The Groundskeeper."
It got 50,000 shares.
Somebody added fake audio:
"They say he whispers to the dirt and the dirt listens."
Meanwhile – The Criminal Underworld Weighs In
Across town, a meeting of mid-level gangsters was underway.
Goose: "So is he a meta or not?"
Curtis: "Nobody knows. Doesn't talk. Just stares."
Goose: "I heard he put Killer Croc in a coma."
Curtis: "No, man—he helped Croc fix his plumbing. But like… silently. It's worse."
Goose: "What's worse than that?!"
Curtis: "The quiet. The quiet is the worst part."
They all shuddered.
Back at the Garden – One Week Later
Frank added new soil. Replanted the basil. Someone had left a tiny scarecrow with a cape. Another neighbor installed fairy lights. Someone else donated a wooden bench.
It wasn't much.
But it was his.
And if people wanted to think he was some Gotham boogeyman for planting mint and squash?
Let them.
As long as they didn't touch the tomatoes.