On the Run

"What do you mean escaped?" roared Commissioner Gordon.

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's what the guards at Arkham said," replied the cop who had brought Gordon the bad news.

"This is unbelievable!" the commissioner exclaimed, hunting through his desk drawers for the records of Jon Crane and Edward Nigma. "Not one, but two loonies out wreaking havoc all over Gotham City."

"Well, sir, they haven't been sighted in the inner city yet," corrected the officer.

"That's good, at least," Gordon muttered. "Now, where was it that they first struck—no, no! Don't tell, me! Show me!" With that, the commissioner got up out of his office chair, grabbed his Gotham City Police Department-emblazoned jacket and swung it on.

* * *

"This is the place, boss," said the cop, leaving Gordon to have a look. The place was a small house down by the river leading into Gotham Bay. It was a pretty secluded place, a little too near to Arkham's gates than Gordon would have liked if he were a homebuyer.

There were trees on two sides of the yard; the others were the bank of the river and the prairie from which the two convicts had apparently come. Gordon strolled downhill toward the storage shed where a Crime Scene Investigator was taking photographs.

"All right, tell me what happened," said the commissioner, looking around. There was a short, weathered dock a few meters to his left. There were a few coils of line sitting on its grayed planks, but no boat was moored there.

"We think the Riddler and Scarecrow came up this hill," the CSI said, tracing the route with a latex-gloved finger. "Then, Riddler seems to have shot the lock off this shed. The shot must have aroused the attention of the homeowner, Peter Bari."

"Well, where is he now?"

The man nonchalantly pointed to a spot a little ways across the yard. "He's over there."

"Okay, so why did they break into the shed?" Gordon asked.

"Ah, well, according to Arkham, the Riddler left with a gun, but Scarecrow was unarmed. There seems to have been something hanging on the back wall, don't you think?" suggested the CSI, pointing inside the dark interior of the shack.

Gordon stepped inside and clicked on his flashlight. Sure enough, two pegs were embedded in the opposite wall, separated by a long distance. It was apparent that a large tool had previously been hanging there.

"The victim's daughter says there used to be a scythe in here," offered the CSI, leaning in to have a peek at the shed.

"Argh!" the commissioner fumed. A scythe was always the Scarecrow's weapon of choice. He paced in a slow circle then turned back to the man taking photos. "Who is this daughter you spoke of?"

"Oh, she's the one who discovered the crime scene. She checks in on her father from time to time."

"Where is she now?" Gordon inquired, leaving the shed and heading for the body.

"Uh… she's being interviewed up by the house."

"Thanks," Gordon grunted. He walked over to where a forensics team was surrounding the body of Peter Bari. "So how'd this guy die?" he asked as he approached.

"Well, see for yourself," replied a woman labeling a zipped plastic bag with a black permanent marker.

Gordon looked down and grunted thoughtfully. "Where's the head?" he asked, looking up from the gruesome corpse.

"Over there," said the woman without looking up, motioning with her marker.

* * *

"This is the life!" sighed Riddler, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back in the old man's aluminum boat. The Scarecrow and he had been going down the river for quite some time now.

"I just wish I had more of my serum," complained Scarecrow. He was seated at the front, with his scythe propped up against his shoulder. He reached up and shifted the position of his burlap mask. "So what's the plan?"

"Well," said the Riddler, looking left then right furtively, "What we want to do is draw out our mutual enemy, correct?"

"Of course."

"I was thinking we should split up, and if one of us encounters the Batman, we should try to lure him into a special spot I've picked out."

"What is this 'special spot'?" asked Scarecrow, intrigued.

"It's a warehouse on 42nd and Paige. Can't miss it; it's a big brick building, no windows untill you get to the upper levels. Unless some goodie-two-shoes has been making the rounds with soap and water, there will be a large question mark spray-painted on the eastern wall."

"Got it," confirmed Scarecrow.

"Well, I'll be seeing you, then," Riddler said, tilting the handle on the motor so that the boat glided gracefully in toward the riverbank.

Scarecrow rose and hopped out into the shallows then reached back in and grabbed his scythe. With a brief salute, the masked man set off uphill toward the outskirts of Gotham City.

Riddler quickly sped off in the boat. Of course, he would go directly to the heart of the city, conveniently placing himself nearer to the warehouse than his companion. If anyone was going to kill the Batman, it would be him, not that raving lunatic who clung to a raggedy piece of burlap like a child to a security blanket. However, another, more sinister, idea drifted into his mind. Perhaps his trip into Gotham would be a little shorter than he had first planned...


AN— Thanks for reading, and please review!