He was a normal-looking man.
Mid– to late forties, in decent shape by all appearances with a straight spine and wide shoulders. Dark brown hair over dark brown eyes in a fine but forgettable face. He was every man, someone who could blend into a crowd without leaving a ripple.
Arthur Hallsey sat in a metal chair at the metal table in the small interrogation room. He did not look scared or anxious. He didn’t even appear to be annoyed. He simply sat, lightly tapping his fingers along the sides of a half-full paper cup of cold coffee from the vending machine down the hall. Tapping to some tune only he could hear.
Oliver thought about that coffee as he watched Hallsey through the one-way glass. He had drunk that coffee before. It was garbage. The vending machine was a relic of late eighties coin-operated machinery and had been in place probably before he had even been born. The coffee it put out certainly tasted as if the machine had not been cleaned since then.
He made a mental note to have it replaced.
The door to the room opened and Hallsey stopped tapping. Dinah walked in. She wore a dark pantsuit, her lieutenant badge swinging from a thin ball-bead chain around her neck. Her hair was tightly tied in a ponytail that gave her a very intimidating look. She sat in the chair across from Hallsey and leaned back, just watching him without saying anything.
Oliver waited, watching. Whenever they did speak, he would hear it all through the intercom on the wall to the left of the window.
Hallsey resumed tapping on his cup. After a few minutes he picked it up, shook it slightly, and tossed back what was left. He grimaced as he put the empty cup on the table.
“Your coffee is terrible,” he said.
“That’s how you want to start?” she asked.
Hallsey shrugged. “You could tell me why I’m here.”
“You know why you’re here.”
“I was working on my screenplay when you showed up at my house, put me into a car, and brought me here.”
“What’s your screenplay about?”
“About two acts long at this point. I was starting the third when you arrived.” Hallsey smiled at his tiny joke.
Dinah didn’t.
“Is your screenplay about a man who dresses in a costume and goes out trying to find crime to stop?”
“No,” he said. “I think that story’s been done.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“The idea that it’s been done before? Doesn’t bother me in the slightest. All ideas have been done before.”
“How do you feel about vigilantes?”
“We have a lot of them here in Star City.”
“Do they help stop crime, or do they just get in the way?”
“Well, officer, I think you could answer that better than me.” He leaned forward. “But it does seem like no matter what they do, crime keeps rising.”
“So you think they get in the way?”
He considered it. “Not so much ‘get in the way’ as more ‘don’t go far enough.’” He frowned slightly at the thought.
“So, you think normal people should put on costumes and try to fight crime?”
“I’m saying it’s not the worst idea.”
“Are you a vigilante, Mr. Hallsey?”
“That seems pretty silly,” he responded. “What do you think? Don’t I look like a normal citizen with a normal family and a normal life?”
“That is not a denial.”
“It’s not a confession, either.”
“Do you hate criminals?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Other criminals don’t.”
Hallsey chuckled. “Oh, I bet they do. The only reason you police get any crime solved is that they hate each other and turn on each other like rats. They do your job for you.”
Dinah raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like police?”
“Police are fine. Mostly good people.”
“Fine?”
“Someone has to clean up after a vigilante stops a criminal.”
Even though her face and body language did nothing to give it away, Oliver could feel Dinah’s frustration through the glass. He understood her predicament. There was nothing with which she could charge Hallsey, so she couldn’t use her normal interrogation tactics. She was handcuffed by circumstance because she was a police officer.
Good thing I’m not, he thought. I’m just the mayor.
He turned toward the door.
* * *
Oliver knocked and stepped inside the interrogation room.
“Lieutenant Drake, could I speak with Mr. Hallsey, please?”
Dinah stood without answering and walked out through the door, shutting it behind her and leaving the two men alone. Oliver knew she would go to the observation room, primarily to keep anyone else from listening in.
Oliver crossed the room, his hand extended. “Hello Mr. Hallsey, I’m—”
Oliver stopped short, then moved to the chair Dinah had just vacated and sat down. The metal legs scraped on the concrete floor.
“Thank you for that.”
Hallsey waved it away. With a twinge of resentment, Oliver noticed that he didn’t seem to suffer any physical discomfort, even after the explosion.
“The reason you’re here today is that the police think you are dressing up and going out at night to be a vigilante.”
“You say that as if you’re very sure of it.”
“Mr. Hallsey…” Oliver leaned forward. “I’m not a police officer. I cannot arrest you. But I am in touch with the Green Arrow, and so I know a thing or two about vigilantes.”
“If you’re so close to him, you should ask him why he went soft on crime.”
“Soft? The Green Arrow and his team have helped the police put an end to several major crime organizations.”
Hallsey shrugged. “That was last year. This year he seems to be letting criminals get away with a lot more. Even murder.”
“I assure you, he’s fighting as hard as he can.”
“Criminals go to jail and come back out doing even more. They need to be stopped—permanently.”
“The Arrow is trying very hard to not kill anyone,” Oliver said, doing his best to keep his face calm and his voice even. “He works in extreme situations, but he and I agree that killing isn’t the solution.”
“Some people need to be killed.”
Oliver leaned forward. “Yes, sometimes they do. And sometimes it’s the vigilante who loses their life. Laurel Lance, for example. People still honor her death as Black Canary.”
“So criminals are dangerous? Hmmm… I never thought of them that way.” Hallsey rubbed his chin as if contemplating, “Sounds as if Green Arrow needs to be more… thorough. You know, get them off the streets for good.”
“You think he should kill these people.”
“Mayor Queen, I think the most important thing is for my daughters to grow up in a safe time, a safe place. If some of the bad guys need to go down to make that happen, well then, so be it. I’d applaud anyone who makes that happen.”
“You should think about your daughters,” Oliver said, “and your wife. They need you to go home to them.”
“I didn’t say I was a vigilante.”
“No, Mr. Hallsey, but you didn’t deny it.”
“Look, Mayor Queen.” Hallsey shifted in his seat. “Your friend the Green Arrow is a good guy. I’ve felt inspired by him for a long time. But you should tell him I was more inspired when he used to give the bad guys the justice they deserved.”
“Justice is more than killing.”
“If there is harm, then you shall pay life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot,” Hallsey said flatly. “Burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.”
“Did you just quote the Bible to me?” Oliver asked.
“It’s the truth,” Hallsey said. “You can nail that to the cross.”
* * *
“I can’t charge him with anything.”
They watched Hallsey through the one-way glass. The man had turned his empty cup upside down and was tapping on it like a miniature drum.
“I can’t even hold him much longer,” Dinah said.
Oliver took a deep breath, held it, and then let it slide out through his nostrils.
“Cut him loose,” he said.
“He’s the one.”
“I know.” Oliver didn’t turn. “He couldn’t resist at the end there, dropping Cross’s name. He’s the copycat.”
“What are we going to do about that?”
“First thing is to take Cross off his list.”