Lovers and Madmen

Characters - Edward Nygma (The Riddler)/Female OC

Rating for language, violence, and eventual sexual scenarios

Disclaimer: Don't own anything related to DC/Batman. I own original characters only. This story is merely to entertain, no infringement or offense meant.

Chapter 3: The Devil Went Down to Georgia

After parking, Tamera made her way up the steps into City Hall and quickly found her destination on the directory. Within minutes she was in the office of Code Enforcement. Since it was the start of the lunch hour, only one worker manned the counter but luckily only five people were ahead of her. Tamera took a number and patiently waited – 40 minutes – for her number to be called. Unceremoniously the city worker took the packet of documentation and explained the Appeals process. 'All I can do now was wait and hope' she thought as she climbed back into the elevator.

The ride back to the lobby was uneventful but when the doors opened, it was a media circus. Granted many people were returning to work after lunch but this utter madness. Once two men standing behind her began discussing the mayor's upcoming speech Tamera made the connection. Normally Tamera did not pay much attention to politics, especially on the local level. As far as she was concerned most politicians were either crooked or selfish. She believed some were generally intelligent people who wanted to make a difference but the system got in the way. And Gotham was hardly the shining example of justice and virtue. Tamera had voted for Mayor Connors because she felt Ms. Connors was the best candidate. Tamera knew the Mayor was announcing her agenda soon but she had forgotten the press conference was scheduled for that afternoon. Somehow the petite woman fought the sea of people and was almost to the entrance when the glass doors clicked. The people in front of Tamera pushed on the doors but they were locked. Suddenly the PA system crackled to life.

"Greetings Gothamites, The Riddler here with a much-needed wake-up call. I wonder if any of you are smart enough to solve this riddle. If you can, you may return to your dull, dismal robotic lives where you follow, like sheep, buffoon leaders incapable of keeping order. If you do not solve it, I'm afraid you will find yourself in the hot seat, so to speak. I am a reasonable man so I will give you one chance to deduce the key to your freedom.

Here you are:
Block the siren which travels over silent waves
Or suffer the stink of failure.
Mayor Connors is doing a bang up job
But a lemon can wreck a house of stone.
"I am watching, so if anyone tries anything heroic, you die. You have one hour. Happy Solvi ng!" The Riddler chirped and the PA went dead.

Immediately the lobby erupted into chaos. Screams and pleas for help battled with cries of anguish in the small lobby.

"He's jammed the cell signal, I can't get any reception!" A young woman cried. Several others soon confirmed that all cell phone service in the lobby was unavailable. Some of the hostages were personnel that worked at City Hall so they tried coworkers from the lobby phones.

"Where's SWAT?"
"Where's Batman?"
"I mean, seriously, this is stupid! No one can solve this crap!"
"Let us go you psycho!"

There was no means of escape. The entrance doors were locked tight and the only option was to shut the power grid down and reboot it – if that would even work. Even if it did work there just wasn't enough time and it was a gamble against the Riddler's threats that had too high a risk. No, the citizens of Gotham who had unwittingly visited City Hall that Friday afternoon were stuck. The lower level windows were made from bulletproof glass and relatively unbreakable but that did not deter some people from trying.

A group of men picked up chairs. One chair hit a window but bounced off the thick glass, cracking as it hit the marbled floor. A large Hispanic officer rushed to the group, one hand resting on his sidearm. "Next person to break city property gets tasered!," he yelled, placing himself between the armed men and the windows. It took less than a minute to realize he was serious so the mob lowered the chairs back to the floor. Climbing on top of a table, he waved his arms and screamed to get the crowd's attention.

"Look, we're all in this together but we can't lose our heads. The doors are locked and we have to assume the Riddler is monitoring us. I'm not willing to risk the life of anyone here that he will make good on his threats. If you please remain calm, we can work on a solution to get everyone out of here safely," he addressed the frantic crowd. Several people began firing questions but the policeman tried to weave through the mob to his colleagues. Luckily Riddler was in such a hurry to get the party started that he blocked the cell tower signal but did not have time to interfere with the departmental walkie-talkies. The officers were able to communicate with others, including Commissioner Gordon, in the building and begin strategizing. Ten minutes had passed.

Fifteen minutes later, the chaos gradually dwindled. There were still children crying and parents desperately trying to soothe them, people trying to get some message to the outside world. A group of hostages was huddled together tearfully praying. Tamera was not a religious person. She considered herself spiritual – she knew that even if you believe in the Big Bang Theory, something had to create the atoms. Maybe once she had five minutes left her opinion would change.

With many of the hostages otherwise occupied, it was easy enough for Tamera to find a secluded corner. Considering that death was a distinct possibility, worrying about getting some dirt on her butt seemed trivial. She sat with her back to the corner and considered her options. The exits were blocked or inaccessible, and Riddler was presumably watching their every move and external communication had been disabled. Peachy. Not that she really had anyone she would call; she no longer had a boyfriend or job and while she did have a few friends she did not feel that overwhelming and melodramatic need to pour her heart out in the last minutes of her life. Even if she was able to contact her mother, Claire York was the type of mother that would question why Tamera was not at work on a Friday afternoon and how she could be so reckless to land herself into such a deadly situation. June Cleaver her mother was not, but thinking on that was not how Tamera wanted to spend the next hour.

In that moment Tamera envied many of her fellow hostages. People who had families and homes, futures full of prosperity and opportunity. What had she accomplished in her short life other than a fair amount of student loan debt? Who would miss her when she died? Her mother, but that was about it. What impact would Tamera York leave on the world? In that moment Tamera realized she had been 'existing' but not living. Her life had been comfortable and convenient but in no way challenging. If she made it out alive, Tamera vowed she would find a purpose for her life. She would find fulfillment. The first step would be embracing her fate; if she died in a few minutes, at least she would die fighting.

A trio of businessmen nearby recited the clue to Tamera who then wrote it out on a sheet of paper. At first glance, the clue made no sense because nothing matched. So Tamera broke the clue down, line by line, underlining what she thought were key words and phrases. Then she played word association until she noticed a pattern. Confidant of her answer, Tamera scribbled the answer (including numbers) on a scrap of her paper, tore the sheet, waded it into a ball and placed her hand and ball of paper into her pocket, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She walked to the counter and got a female officer's attention.

"Officer Grady. is there a restroom? I really need to go," she pleaded, holding up her empty water bottle. In truth she had gone before coming to the station, but if Riddler was watching, hopefully he would take the 'hint' and not pay her any attention. The officer eyed her speculatively, then nodded and motioned for Tamera to follow. Grabbing her hand in gratitude, she slipped the paper into the officer's hand, and mouthed 'I know the answer. The officer looked at her like she was nuts, but read the notes with Tamera's 'proof' and had to admit, there was a strong possibility of it being the answer; Hell, it was the only lead they had at the moment, and time was quickly running out. The cop dropped Tamera off at the bathroom and went to inform the others of her theory; Tamera splashed some cold water on her face and hoped she was correct.

The female officer radioed Commissioner Gordon who replied he would get the details to SWAT. Eventually Tamera rejoined the crowd and waited, watching the clock as the minutes ticked by. She hesitated to say anything to her fellow hostages as she did not want to start a riot, especially if she was wrong. Also she wanted to give the police and SWAT as much time as possible before The Riddler figured out her ploy. The remaining minutes ticked away and seven were left. Some were still screaming and pleading for freedom but by this point most of the hostages were crying, praying or sitting in silence, having given their fate to inevitability. She was shocked that they had given up; it was like they didn't care. No one - to their knowledge - had saved them so they sat like zombies. A part of Tamera thought they deserved this fate - not being blown up, of course, but they weren't willing to defend themselves, to fight for their lives. If they were content sitting around waiting on some hero to swoop in and make all the bad things go away, to act like lemmings, then they deserved to be treated like lemmings. Finally Commissioner Gordon came on the PA, "We have an answer Riddler; SWAT and the special task force are in place. If we solved it, you have to let us go!"

A minute of silence passed, then, "Well, well. I must commend you, you are correct! I release you, use the reprieve wisely, ladies and gentlemen," Riddler gritted out. A few minutes later, the lock clicked again, signaling freedom. Without delay people began exiting the doors, shoving and yelling in the frenzy for freedom. Tamera found the officer she had dealt with earlier and approached her.

"Wow, I don't know how you figured it out, but we all owe you a thank you. You saved everybody's lives today, you're a hero," Grady effused. The comment brought back her earlier inner monologue.

"I just worked at it," Tamera told her, trying to stay polite. Even the police were lemmings; they had been no more useful in preventing the situation or in its solution. "I only did what anyone else could have done. That's really what I came to talk to you about. I know have to write a report, and I prefer to be left out of it as much as possible."

"I don't understand, the Commissioner, maybe even the Mayor will want to meet you. You would be in the news and everything."

Tamera had always been one of those people who shied from the spotlight and being commended and hero worshipped for something anyone could have - and should have - done just infuriated her.
"That's very nice and all, but really, I'm a private person - I don't want to be mentioned. At all. Besides, the police and SWAT did the dangerous part. Give them the credit!"

Grady looked extremely displeased about it, but nodded and said she would do what she could to keep Tamera out of the report and press. Tamera then joined the stragglers in leaving the building. Once outside, personnel were directing the 'released' captives so they would not be in the way of SWAT and the cleanup process. Everyone was told scene they could not remove their vehicles until the area was secure and no longer a crime, but the city would provide cab service to anyone unable to secure transportation otherwise. Declining to speak to any reporters, Tamera went through her limited list of contacts. She discounted calling her mother as the last thing she wanted at the moment was unnecessary stress. Unfortunately she now had no significant other and was unable to reach any co-workers or friends, so the beleaguered woman opted for the cab.

As she opened the door to her apartment and turned on the light, she couldn't escape the loneliness that draped around her. In one day she had lost her job, her home and almost her life. Well, at least things couldn't get worse, she mused, as she set a TV dinner in her microwave. Once heated, she turned on the TV and angled her chair so she could view it from her kitchen table. As she ate dinner she was pleased to note her anonymity in the segment on the earlier drama at City Hall, smirking when Commissioner Gordon and some of the bystanders praised the speed and diligence of the police force in averting tragedy. They should take credit. Their inefficiency in protecting the people, inability to anticipate a catastrophe, and their reliance on a civilian to unravel the plot - yeah, responsibility rested solely on their shoulders, as far as she was concerned. Granted he was extreme in his methods, but Tamera thought very briefly that The Riddler might have a point. Gotham needed a wake-up call.

Edward Nygma was typically not a physical man, but right now he wanted desperately to beat the shit out of someone or something, so he settled for throwing his coffee mug against the wall. The shattering gave him minuscule satisfaction, but now he had neither coffee nor mug. Ungracefully he flung himself back into his chair. He admitted the clue had been relatively easy, but how could Gotham City's Finest Dimwits have solved it, and so quickly? More puzzling still was who had solved it. Surveillance was tedious, but he had to know, so he pulled up the video footage and began to watch.

Commissioner Gordon announced the solution so either he solved it (somewhat unlikely) or someone else solved it and passed it along to their esteemed boss. Zooming in on the older man's face, Eddie was able to isolate his lips. With a sigh, he set the time code back and watched, this time on super slow speed. The thick mustache created a small problem but the experienced criminal was able to transcribe the conversations the police chief had with the unfortunate subordinates stuck on his floor that afternoon. Some of it was expected – protect the Mayor, locate Batman, find me The Riddler. Alternating barking orders from his office, the Commissioner was speaking over radio to officers and the Mayor throughout the event. His efforts created a one-sided dialogue; eventually Eddie planned to go back through and fill in the blanks – see how the Mayor survived her first official crisis – but for now he was singularly concerned with the average person who had beaten him. Finally he deciphered the part where the clue and its answer were discussed. So, he marked the time code and began cycling through the rest of the footage in that same range to see which officers or citizens were using police-issued radios. It was grueling but three hours in he had narrowed the 'suspect' to the lobby. He was then able to identify the officers and read the other half of Gordon's conversation.

"Commissioner, we have a civilian who thinks she solved the riddle," the officer said.

"Okay, let's hear it," Gordon replies.

"A car bomb, probably made from fertilizer with a remote signal."

"That does seem to fit the clues. Where is the car?" Gordon asks as he makes some notes on paper.

"Right outside. Probably parked close enough to get the building."

Gordon sighs as he scratches his chin. "If it is City Hall, the only close parking is the metered parking, right out front. Yeah, that would Riddler's of a message, right under our own god-damned noses! I'll direct SWAT to start there. Let's hope this works," he finishes. After confirming details with SWAT, he writes the answer on a notepad and holds it up to the nearest security camera.

So, as Eddie suspected, it was not the proud and valiant police department but a citizen. Interesting but not shocking by any means. Using that knowledge Eddie restarted the footage and focused this time on the citizens. He saw the expected hysterics and prayers, the men trying to break down the doors and windows, a woman getting her wallet stolen. How nice. Some presumably were working on the answer, based on the intense looks of concentration on their dull faces. Using the time code as reference, he watched for any interactions between the citizens and police. The only possibility was a woman who left the lobby to go the bathroom. Because after the female officer returns from escorting Sheepette to the toilet, she radios Gordon who contacts SWAT and the bomb squad to secure the parking lot directly next to City Hall's front steps. And damnit all if they didn't check the cars and find the van. The Commissioner had answered correctly; trapped by his own warped sense of ethics, Riddler had to let them go, but he could not understand how the situation had gotten away from his control. Eddie hated not being in control.

Eddie used his picture of Sheepette - as he had taken to calling her - he searched he Gotham DMV database. Her presence at City Hall implied that she had business there, which meant she was local. The search took a few hours and Eddie hated every agonizing minute. When the alert chimed, he flew to his seat and went to work. He had her basic information - name, address, and birthday so he was able to do a thorough background search. Within the hour he knew almost everything about Tamera Roxanne York.

~

When Tamera awoke the next morning, she found it disheartening not to prepare for work. MediCorp was not her dream job but she had been good at it. At this point in her life, Tamera had hoped to be approaching mid-level management and now she had to fight an army of fresh-faced college grads. The rest of the previous day's events hit her full force and the tears came unbidden. Tamera cried for her failures and wasted potential until she could cry no more. Then her affirmation from yesterday shone like a star, dispelling the gloom. New day, new start, new life. The unemployed woman pulled herself out of bed, showered and dressed. Armed with new resolve Tamera was ready to tackle her dysfunctional life. 'I'll get some boxes, get a coffee and update my resume,' she thought. First things first – retrieving her car. Tamera grabbed her keys and bag and made her way back to City Hall.

The Riddler was obsessive and more than a little neurotic but it was also a valuable asset during reconnaissance and surveillance. He had slept a paltry four hours the night before, wanting to be camped outside Tamera's building before daybreak. His patience was rewarded when the woman appeared. On first glance, she was dull. Jeans and t-shirt, ponytail, dejected expression – this was a boring, vanilla woman.

The briefest thought of killing her right then and there flashed across his mind. The data he had acquired painted a bleak picture of a mistress of mediocrity. Dead-end job (which he learned she had been let go from), crappy apartment in a crappy neighborhood, a car common thieves would avoid. By ending Tamera York's life he would be doing her a favor - sparing her the disappointment of a life of thankless toil and unachieved potential. However, her imminent demise was stalled by his right-hand man, Rocco.

"Hey Boss, do you need us to run distraction for ya?"

"No. Her car is still at City Hall so I am confident that will be her first priority. Just stay here until I return. And if anyone asks, you're movers," Riddler instructed, tossing a clipboard with a bogus work order.

Riddler found Tamera's apartment and it took less than five minutes to pick the flimsy lock. Once inside he briefly surveyed the dwelling for signs of another inhabitant. All the mail and bills on the dining table were addressed to "Tamera York" so Edward felt confident she lived alone. He rifled through the papers on her table – bills, junk mail and an Eviction Notice. Deciding the kitchen inspection was complete, he moved on.

The living room held a three tier bookshelf lined with a mixture of the classics and modern fare. She had a small couch whose back ran parallel with the kitchen and a matching oversized chair, creating an L around her simple mahogany coffee table. Edward believed a lot could be said about a person by their coffee table. He did not own one, but it was the center point to the room and how it was decorated spoke volumes about what impression the host wanted to make on guests. For instance, the table had no décor – not even a magazine, coaster, or remote. Obviously she did not have visitors or entertain. Looking around the house, that Spartan, frumpy feel was everywhere. How could she live like this? It was so barren and depressing Eddie felt suffocated just standing there.

Peeking inside her bathroom he noticed, unlike most women, a decidedly low maintenance beauty regimen. Simple hair products – curling iron, hair dryer, brush and comb, shampoo, conditioner and hair spray – all generic and low cost products to boot. Normal body wash, loofah, shaving cream and razor. Her shower curtain was a cream-colored mesh over a rust colored liner. The medicine cabinet revealed typical over-the-counter fare such as aspirin and allergy pills but nothing prescription. Hell, this woman didn't even own mouthwash. Perusal of the cabinets around the sink revealed more boring items – toilet paper, extra toiletry items and organic cleaning supplies.

The last room for inspection was the bedroom. A full size bed with a cherry headboard and a matching dresser and nightstand were the only pieces of furniture. The nightstand had a simple lamp and clock but nothing else. Since the bedroom faced north, the room got some natural light so a sheer panel in pale gold was all that was necessary to cover the window. The sheer drapes matched the cream and gold comforter on the full-sized bed. Not that Eddie was an interior designer but the room could definitely use some style. A little color could go a long way in this woman's life. The closet was full of plain clothes – jeans, plain t-shirts, simple suit separates in earth tones. There were a few pieces with designs or rich colors but overall Tamera's wardrobe said safe, conventional and boring. Not everyone could pull off Kelly green but brown and black? Eddie was finishing his perusal of the bedroom as he heard Rocco over his earpiece. Knowing Little Miss Boring was on her way up Eddie quickly assessed the most effective introduction and got in position. Minutes later he heard low muttering as she fumbled with her keys and the lock before finally succeeding with the door.

The woman before him matched the image he had formed in his head. Plain white tennis shoes that were moderately worn through adorned her feet. The rest of her outfit was a pair of normal, bootcut jeans (probably from a bargain clothing store) and a light gray t-shirt with a black rose printed on it. Her auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. After setting her coffee and purse on the kitchen counter, she retrieved a bundle of cardboard boxes from the hallway. Edward was beginning to wonder if he had the right person; this woman was frighteningly unobservant.

"One good thing - being out of work means plenty of time to pack," she grumbled as she shut and locked the door. When Tamera turned around, she was grateful that her coffee was on the counter as she would have dropped it or thrown it when she saw a silhouetted figure seated in her living room.

"I'm calling the police," she shakily called to the figure as she groped for her purse and eventually pulled out a cell phone from the front pocket. But Tamera was too late as Riddler had already positioned himself in front of the door.

"And tell them what? By the time they got here I would be long gone and I assure you there is no evidence that I was ever here," he chuckled darkly in her ear. A sick part of him was entertained by the terror mounting with every retreating step until the realized she was utterly trapped.

"What do you want?" she rasped, turning on the light. Tamera felt a fraction of relief as the safety of fluorescent light flooded the kitchen. At least she could see him now, for what difference it made.

"What a hackneyed and uninspired question. Certainly you can do better than that, Miss York," her guest admonished before making himself comfortable in her favorite oversized chair. Now that she was certain she was not being robbed and reasonably certain she was not going to die, Tamera allowed herself a calming breath.

"Fine, how about - who are you, and why are you terrorizing me in my home?"

"Terrorizing is a strong word. I merely wished to meet the woman who single-handedly foiled The Riddler's dastardly design at City Hall. What is truly interesting about a crisis situation is a person's reaction. I love watching people, especially when they find themselves in those do-or-die scenarios. Most people spend those last moments fighting and pleading, lamenting and caterwauling. Then there are those who pray; to find that last shred of peace before they meet their doom. The most interesting type of all is the unsung hero. When I saw the TV and newspaper reports, though, one thing was curious. Not one survivor mentioned you, or how solved the clue."

"It wasn't that difficult, really. If any of them had given it serious thought, they could have figured it out." The way the stranger's eyes picked up a devilish glint to them as he steepled his fingers had Tamera instantly on edge. Maybe it was the stress form everything she had been through lately but Tamera kicked herself that she couldn't lie more effectively. "I - how - no one knows that I solved the clue."

"Hmm. I admit I was almost positive it was you but I had to confirm my suspicion. You just did," he said, grinning like the Chesire Cat. The sunlight caught his cuff links and shining brightly was a pair of cuff links - one shaped like a question mark, the other like a jigsaw puzzle piece. The Riddler chuckled, sensing the exact moment his hostess knew whom precisely was sitting in her apartment.

Tamera's peaches-and-cream complexion paled to chalky white. "You're The Riddler?"

He tipped his hat, "At your service, madam."

"So what does The Riddler want with me?"

"As I stated, I study people. You reacted…unexpectedly. I find myself intrigued by the unexpected. Your response differed from those of the other hostages. So I learned who Tamera Roxanne York was, at least on paper, but my curiosity was not satisfied unless I met her in person," he shrugged, as is talking someone was perfectly normal. To the Riddler it was.

"That still doesn't explain why you are here," she replied, trying to infuse her voice with bravado she didn't feel.

"I am also extremely vain – I did not expect a plebian like you to solve one of my riddles. I had to size you up, so to speak."

"..." It was unbelievably frustrating for her not to tell her guest off. "Okay, so you stalked me to find out how and why I solved a riddle. Again, that still doesn't explain why you are here - in. my. apartment."

"Ah, well you need to phrase your questions more precisely. I am here, as I said, to learn more about you. I was planning on killing you but now that we've met, I realize you could be an asset to me. I am willing to offer you a job, on a trial basis, of course."

Tamera stared at him, mouth agape. "I heard that you were insane, but now I know you must be. You're asking a complete stranger to commit crimes for you?"

"When you think about it, every prospective employee is a stranger. You are not a stranger to me as I've learned about you, studied you. Secondly, crime is such a subjective word. A man that steals food to feed his family is branded a criminal, but would not watching his children die of starvation be a crime far worse?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Crimes are punishments for laws broken - laws made and set by men and women like you and me. Years ago drinking was a crime and now look at us - liquor stores, bars on every corner, beer consumed in public at sporting events."

"I don't see how you can compare having a beer at a football game to…robbing a jewelry store."

"Simple - the concept of possession." At Tamera's incredulous look he continued. "For instance, gems are mined from the earth - grown and then harvested by men, polished and sold. The same is true for precious metals - gold, silver, platinum."

"Yes, but that is a case of possession - someone owns the land, the equipment, another entity owns the gem brokerage firm, and the jeweler buys the products to sell."

"All on paper, m'dear. If we are to believe the land is free and all this was created by a divine being - I fail to see anywhere that says men are entitled to exclusive use of our basic resources. If you want to take it even further, let's argue there is ownership. Each of the employees at the quarries, the excavating companies, the refineries - they are members of those 'owners' so do they not have some entitlement to the goods they are helping to obtain? It is by their labor the goods are made available for possession. The compensation those workers receive certainly does reflect their cooperation in the possessive process. Besides, most of those lands and resources were gained illegally to begin with, so I would argue possession null and void. In the case of antiquities, often the records are shoddy at best so determining the original, true owner is impossible. For all you know the item may very well belong to an ancestor. And I do not keep the items, I merely relocate them to someone who desires and appreciates them. What good are items to sit in stores or warehouses or vaults, never to be admired or treasured?"

"Okay, you can't justify murder!"

"Ah, murder. For the record I rarely involve myself with it, if possible. I may be 'insane' but I am not a sociopath. Murder is determined by laws and courts - men and women. I'm not discounting evidence or witnesses, but what one interpretation of murder may be considered manslaughter or self-defense by someone else. And we must look at the context - if you assassinate a tyrannical dictator or possible terrorist, thereby saving thousands of lives in the process, one paltry murder seems almost inconsequential. Again, I rarely dirty my hands that way as I feel slaughtering people is so unimaginative and common. If you really despise someone that greatly, there are many, far more inventive ways to neutralize a person that can be so much more satisfying. Death is final, but the sweetest revenge is that which can be exacted time and time again."

Relatively sure the Riddler was not going to kill her - for now - Tamera sat down on the couch opposite the chair he currently occupied. Desperately she tried to find rebuttals for his arguments. Well, he wasn't called a master logician for nothing. "Even if I accepted your explanations, why me? Don't you have thugs to do your dirty work?" she asked.

"Certainly. What I cannot hire is someone with a keen mind, an eye for detail and subtlety - someone intelligent who can help with the finer, more intricate points in my plans. Sometimes a hammer is far more effective than a wrecking ball," he smirked. Well, being called intelligent by the Riddler was undoubtedly a compliment. Tamera searched his face for any sign of joking and found none - he was completely earnest in his offer.

"I still can't accept - it's just...wrong," she squirmed.

"You cannot stand there and tell me that you don't need the money, as I know moving costs on top of your dwindling income is testament to that. As far as the wrongness," Riddler leaned forward, locking gazes with her. "Have you ever watched a movie, read a book, or listened to the news and been incensed when justice was not served? Company executives riding roughshod, doing whatever they please with not even a slap on the wrist. But when disaster strikes, the privileged get bailouts and their pensions while the distraught people they wronged stand in the streets begging for food and a roof over their head. That is wrong .

Before Tamera could interject, he continued, "What about upstart employees robbing promotions from hard-working veterans by sleeping their way to the top? I would say that, too, is a gross injustice". Riddler smirked, knowing he had hit the chink in her armor.

The image of Becki and Isaac being fire and forced to work menial jobs where they were abused and belittled came immediately to mind; Tamera loathed admitting it, but a great amount of pleasure coursed through her. Shaking away the mental picture, she focused on the dangerous man before her. "If I were to agree, what exactly would I be doing?"

"At first you would be doing small tasks - surveillance, decoy, maybe even placing clues or packages. If you are any good, I shall re-evaluate your role in the organization."

"So I wouldn't be doing any of the, er, appropriating?"

The Riddler laughed heartily. "My dear, right now I wouldn't trust you to appropriate a toaster that the bank gives away for free. No, you will be far removed from the 'dirty work' as you put it." By her body language and facial expression, Riddler could tell she was fighting for a reason to say no and losing. Eventually she sighed in defeat and he knew he had won. "Great, we'll be in touch," he smiled and rose from the chair.

The click of the door latch startled Tamera back to reality, if it weren't for the butt imprint in her chair, she would have laughed the whole scene off as a stress-induced hallucination. The Riddler - the infamous and insane criminal mastermind had been in her apartment, making pleasantries and had even offered her a job. While she began packing her apartment she idly wondered if this was what people referred to as making a deal with the devil.

Author's Note: Sorry it has taken me forever to update. Between the holidays and some other 'events' that popped up, it has been a hellish few months. Stick with me, please! I have much more fun in store. Leave a review and let me know what you like (or don't). This chapter was un-betaed so please tell me if you see any mistakes or OOC. Chapter somewhat inspired by "The Devil Went Down to Georgia".