If you enjoyed this or any of the previous chapters, please take a second and send the author a review. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets them know you care.
A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.
Edward Nigma was not making himself hard to find. Considering the scope and complexity of a metropolis the size of Gotham it really wasn't impossible to stay hidden when one so desired. For a man of his purported...talents, he should have all but disappeared. In fact, for an elite assassin he was practically broadcasting his location to anyone willing to look. It left his hunter scratching his head and wondering if his reputation was, in fact, legitimate.
Bruce had picked up his trail easily enough the day after Marko Kazan was killed. He'd set up an hourly search function to report 'hits' from any of the standard databases his computers routinely monitored. A credit card, surprisingly issued in the name "Edward Nigma", was used to rent a room at the Flaming Arrow Motel deep in Riley's territory. It was either an amateur mistake or he wasn't even trying to hide from the authorities, going so far as to flaunt his location.
Not that the police knew to even be looking for him. If it wasn't for the offhanded mention of his nickname in O'Grady's even the Batman would be in the dark about the identity of his quarry.
The Gotham police had found the perch from which Kazan had been shot three hours after the fact, being forced to search every room within line of sight of the stairs. Seven hundred yards away and twelve stories up the large bore rifle was waiting for them, wiped clean, a small green magnet in the shape of a question mark laying beside it. There was no other physical evidence present.
And now before him sat Edward Nigma, nursing a beer in a beat up old bar in West Harlow down the street from the seedy motel at which he was staying and casually filling in a crossword puzzle he had spread out in front of him.
Bruce hadn't been able to dig up much on the man. He'd been correct in his hunch about Boston, the police there had had a file on him. A very thin file.
The man had never been charged with a crime, not even a misdemeanor, but he was suspected to be complicit in the deaths of eight people linked to Boston's Irish mob families. If you read between the lines you could tell that the number was likely much, much higher than that. That seemed to be the only pattern in the murders, a conspicuous lack of any evidence. Thus the confusion at Nigma's apparent lack of care for his own operational secrecy.
The killings linked to him, including so not much more than rumors, included methods that ran the gamut. Everything from long range rifle shots to explosives and poisonings had been found bearing the small green question marks.
Apparently the man was multi-talented, possible military training?
No alias other than, The Riddler, which he apparently hated, because of his love for puzzles and word games. They went on to speculate that Nigma was extremely intelligent and calculating, but no known history of any formal schooling had come up in any research. In fact, there was no history at all for any Edward Nigma stretching back any further than six years.
Bruce hadn't missed the reference to enigmain his name. Obviously an alias. Apparently the man had an appreciation for puzzles that extended all the way to the fake name he used. Was the name Edward even real?
His target was receiving a call now on the bar phone, the bartender handing the receiver to Nigma after briefly answering it.
Smart.
Bruce could tap into most of the cell phone carriers in the area and find records if he had a little information to go on. He couldn't listen into the conversation going on below without having a physical tap in place, which he didn't, much less track the person on the other end of the call. The loud music thumping inside also made it impossible to overhear even Edward's side of the conversation.
Definitely not stupid then.
The call didn't last long, less than a minute, when Nigma tossed the phone back to the bartender and nodded in thanks. He dropped a few bills next to his empty glass before gathering up the old, weathered green beanie on the counter next to him and the dirty olive overcoat draped over the back of his stool, making for the back entrance on the other side of the building.
Odd that he'd choose that for his exit. That entrance opened up onto the service drive for the building, a darkened alley that was meant for deliveries and trash pick-up. The main entrance opened up on to the relatively well lit street that Bruce had been concentrating on.
No matter, this move benefited him. The deserted, dimly lit corridor Nigma was heading for was a vastly superior place for him to...have a sudden chat with the Batman.
Bruce moved quickly into position, placing himself on the edge of the roof halfway between the bar's door and where the alley would spill out on to the nearest street. He didn't have to wait long for his quarry to emerge.
The Riddler wasn't really much to look at. In his early forties and probably only five foot eight on his best day the man's delicate, beanpole skinny frame certainly didn't project the aura of a cold blooded killer. His police record, though, definitely contradicted that impression. Nigma was dressed simply enough, dark pants and dark shirt, the dirty green skullcap sitting slightly cockeyed over the greasy mop of reddish hair atop his head. He'd been chain smoking all night, something he didn't seem apt to quit now as he lazily puffed on yet another cigarette, shifting the coat he still carried into his other hand.
Despite his casual and almost sloppy walk his eyes remained vigilant, continuously scanning the dark recesses around him and even glancing several times towards the rooftops on either side.
About ten yards shy of were Bruce intended to make a dramatic, and hopefully sudden, introduction the small man stopped and dropped the butt of his cigarette, grinding it into the ground with the toe of his well worn boot absently. In a practiced motion he quickly had another one perched between his lips tilting his head down to light it.
"Might as well come down here," Nigma suddenly muttered, not even bothering to look up as he finished lighting his smoke. "I know you're up there somewhere."
Bruce didn't move. Whether it was his training kicking in or simply his surprised reaction to the man's statement he didn't know. What he did want to know was how exactly Nigma had done that.
Down on the street the man grinned, almost as if he'd heard Bruce's thoughts.
"You're good, I'll give you that. Almost missed you up there in the shadows." The Riddler looked up for the first time, searching the buildings for Bruce. "Fortunately I know what to look for."
From his wandering gaze he obviously didn't know exactly where in the shadows Bruce was crouched, watching him. Nigma must have spotted him across the street, before he'd left the bar. Maybe the phone call he'd received? A spotter? He simply knew that the Batman was here...somewhere. Either way, that meant that Bruce wouldn't be getting the element of surprise tonight.
He may as well still talk to the man though, something could still be salvaged and there was the chance, however slight, that he could still be intimidated into revealing something worthwhile.
Bruce allowed himself to land loudly for once, directly behind the diminutive man, rising to his full height and wrapping his cape protectively around him as the man slowly and deliberately turned around.
Even the sudden appearance hadn't been enough to garner a reaction.
"Ah, was wondering when I'd get to meet you." He clapped his hands in excitement, looking him up and down. "You sure don't disappoint, do you?"
Bruce just stood silently, coolly watching him. The credit card had obviously been intentional. Anyone clever enough to spot him coming had to be smart enough to know that it would have left a trail obvious enough to put the yellow brick road to shame. It was bait...left to draw out anyone that might be after him.
Bait Bruce had eagerly taken.
"You didn't know anyone was after you," Bruce growled.
"Ah, but now I do, don't I?"
Nigma, apparently not one to appreciate awkward silences, quickly continued.
"I have to say, I was a bit nervous coming to play in your backyard. What you've been doing here has been fun to watch, but to actually come here..." He stopped and took a drag from his cigarette. "I like the cape by the way." He waited a second and shrugged at the lack of reaction from the hulking man in black. "Anyway, I'm a man that likes himself a good challenge. Matching wits with a worthy adversary and all that crap. You," he said pointing at Bruce, "are gonna be fun."
"This isn't a game."
"Oh, but of course it is. Everything is." He spread his arms out wide theatrically. "Life is all one big game, one big puzzle. Might as well have fun playing it my mom always said."
Bruce just remained silent again, content to let Nigma ramble on and fill the silence. Apparently, for now, the man wasn't feeling like it though.
"Well? You were looking for me. And here I am."
This whole encounter had thrown Bruce, making him uneasy. When he questioned suspects he usually dictated the meeting, able to capitalize on surprise and their terror to his advantage. Nigma seemed calm about the whole thing, even excited to see him. It was decidedly disconcerting.
"Kazan."
"Aye."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You murdered him."
"Awww, c'mon," he chided, "where's the playful banter? The back and forth? The thinly veiled accusations? This is really the best you've got?"
"You. Murdered. Him," Bruce growled slowly, letting the malice drip from every word.
"Says you. Now I dare you to prove it." Nigma sucked in another lungful of smoke before continuing with a wink and a grin. "It was a pretty shot though, right?"
Deep down Bruce knew The Riddler was baiting him, trying to garner some kind of reaction from him by making light of the Ukrainians demise. He was simply too tired to care. Too tired and far too frustrated with being unable to stop anything that seemed to be going on around him.
Before the smaller man could even react Bruce had closed the distance with Nigma and lifted him, turning and slamming his back against the bare, dingy brick wall of the building behind him. He brought his face in close, trying to reign in his anger and fury before continuing.
The random thought that he could break the little man in half flashed briefly across his mind, but was quickly dismissed.
"This. Is. Not. A Game," he snarled.
Nigma didn't blink, he just looked defiantly back, an evil smirk barely touching one corner of his mouth.
"So, what...you're gonna kill me now?" Bruce didn't back down, matching the other man's glare. But he didn't...he couldn't say anything in response. The Riddler, though, ever the talker, didn't hesitate. "Ah, not a killer then, are you?" He was smirking now, a look that was as infuriating as it was off-putting. "Didn't take you for one, despite what some may say. Guess I had you pegged right, huh?"
Bruce slowly lowered him back to the ground and let go of his shirt, still looming over him, but now trying to keep suppress the look of surprise Nigma had almost managed to elicit.
The ragged little man feigned brushing himself back off before looking back towards him. "Glad to see I was right," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "So, who did kill Maroni and that lawyer then? At least one cop too, if memory serves. That riddle's been banging around in my skull for weeks. If it wasn't you and it wasn't the Joker..."
"How?"
"Ah." Nigma's eyes lit up at the question, enticed by the opportunity to show off. "Simple really. You'd never killed anyone before. In all the death and destruction that goes on in this godforsaken place night after night you were...well, clean. Not Falcone, not a single one of his men, not Crane...not even the Joker." He trailed off, smirking proudly at Bruce. "It just figures, ya know. You were a convenient scapegoat and they tossed the blame your way. Let's face it, you're not exactly in a position to argue or defend yourself. Masks have a way of doing that, you know?"
It really was that simple. How was it that a slightly demented hitman was the only one to give the Batman the benefit of the doubt? He dismissed that train of thought quickly as something to consider later. At the moment he needed to regain some measure of control over his current conversation.
"Why kill Kazan?"
The Riddler's eyebrows crept up his forehead in amusement. "You're kidding, right? You mean besides the fact that he was a bloody fool? Guess you didn't hear, he killed a bunch of kids in..."
"We both know he didn't." It was a guess on Bruce's part that Nigma would be aware of that, but it was a guess that was calculated to elicit a response one way or the other, even if it was simply surprise.
But The Riddler wasn't surprised. Not in the least.
"Bravo, sir," Nigma said. He softly clapped his hands a couple of times, giving the wholehearted impression of being honestly impressed with his rival's conclusion. "Already started down the rabbit hole, I see. And what, pray tell, can you infer about Kazan from that little tidbit?"
Bruce remained silent, thinking. He did not enjoy being led along by the man. It was unfamiliar territory...just like everything that was happening at the moment. Nigma obviously enjoyed making his opponent feel inferior, reveling in his superior knowledge. In his own way, though, he was providing some new information and confirming at least one suspicion. Bruce could play along, despite the growing desire to break the smug man's nose.
"He was set up," Bruce said, the familiar gravelly voice rumbling deep in his throat. "The shooting in the park, it practically guaranteed the end result. Someone wanted him dead."
"So, riddle me this then. Who stands to gain the most from the godforsaken bastard's unfortunate passing?"
It was plainly bait again. Nigma seemed to enjoy being the smarter man, or at least relished being more well informed. Smug in his superior intelligence. That meant that the obvious answer wouldn't be correct, which was telling in its own right. Apparently Sean Riley didn't have the most to gain from Marko's death even though he'd supposedly ordered it. That meant he'd been played too. This was getting more complicated.
The Odessa Crime Family wasn't dead by any means, but they were beheaded...leaderless. With his son's passing last month its successor would be unclear, making their territory ripe for the picking as the infighting commenced. Sabatino was too far away to swoop in, located far to the south. It would leave his territory fractured and difficult to protect. That left...
"Black Mask," Bruce growled.
Someone else, not the Ukrainians, had killed those Italians in the park. Someone else, not the Irish, stood to benefit from the uncertainty the death of Kazan had created. There was a void now in Gotham's power structure. A hole that someone would almost assuredly move quickly to fill.
Nigma thinly smiled at him, outwardly pleased that he hadn't taken the more obvious, but incorrect route. "Well, we might make a good detective out of you yet," he said. "But that just leaves more questions. Doesn't it? The more you uncover, the less seems to be revealed."
"What's his role in this? Why not just kill Marko himself?"
The Riddler smiled, his lips parting to reveal dull, tar stained teeth. "And that there's the puzzle, isn't it?"
"You're not going to tell me?"
Nigma rolled his eyes. "I'm playful, not stupid. Did you really think I'd give away the ending and spoil it for everyone? No, no, no...," he quipped, shaking his finger back and forth in Bruce's face as emphasis, "you get to figure it out. Just. Like. Everybody. Else. Or you can just sit and wait for the finale like the rest of this city. Although I think we both know that's not really your...style." He grinned again and threw Bruce a small salute. "Listen, it's been fun...really. Unfortunately, I've got some prior commitments to attend to and you know how that is."
With that, he turned and walked away, softly whistling a tune to himself as he headed for the street.
It left Bruce to stand there powerlessly, his fists clenched at his sides, watching helplessly as the man in the green beanie casually turned the corner and disappeared. The trail that had lead to the Flaming Arrow withered and died that night. Nigma disappeared into the welcoming arms of Gotham's streets.
The elegant, ancient brownstone was in an upper class neighborhood of Gotham. One of those distinguished, tree lined areas where the older money of the city tended to set their roots. That group of people that either wanted to stay in the city or couldn't yet afford the move across the river into the Palisades.
It was an area usually absent of crime. Despite the wealth in these places, the security and police protection was almost always better than everywhere else. A combination of factors that tended to discourage the majority of criminals that still hadn't attained the sophistication to operate in such a locale. It was just a simple fact in Gotham that the more money you possessed, the more untouchable you generally were.
Like most rules there were exceptions. Thomas and Martha Wayne were glaring examples of just how true that adage could be. Tonight, you could add Herbert and Elizabeth Wallace to that list.
Detective Renee Montoya ducked as a uniformed officer held up the yellow police tape at the front door to the home for her. First day back on the job...first hour even, and she was already walking into the scene of a double homicide.
Sometimes she thought she needed her head examined for willingly becoming a cop in this city.
Gordon had offered her several days off after the whole Kazan incident and she'd gladly accepted. Facing death on a daily basis and possibly having to take some stranger's life were factors she'd accepted about her job. Cops learned to compensate and address such issues, especially those in Gotham. Watching someone have his head blown off less than two feet away while skirting her own demise by an inch and a half was something nobody should ever have to deal with.
Not to mention the job it did on her wardrobe.
Against Gordon's protests though she was back on the job only a week after being showered by blood and brain matter.
She paused in the entry hall looking over the framed pictures of a seemingly happy, devoted couple and their equally smiling extended family. A graceful wooden staircase rose up to her immediate left to the next floor while a large, open portal led into a well appointed living room on her right. Straight ahead, continuing down the darkened hall was where she could see the other officers and investigators gathered, the lights of the kitchen and dining room ablaze.
Setting her shoulders and taking a deep breath she walked into the familiar swirling chaos the was any murder scene.
Harvey Bullock was leaning against the door frame when she entered, his unshaven face lightening a tiny amount when he noticed her in the opening. The jerky nod he offered was probably about the most emotion and happiness Renee could expect from the gruff lieutenant.
The murder scene in front of her was surprisingly...gentle. No blood, no hints of violence, nothing broken or otherwise astray in the bright, cheerfully appointed kitchen. Zoning Commissioner Herbert Wallace and his wife were merely slumped over in their chairs across from one another, their faces serene but vacant. If it wasn't for the dark, nearly black, discoloration to their lips and open, unblinking eyes they could very easily have just been asleep.
"Evening Lieutenant." She casually walked up and turned back towards the group of medical examiners.
"Montoya."
"Poison?" The question was directed at Bullock, despite the fact that she was still going over everything in detail in front of her with her eyes.
Harvey grunted appreciatively at her deduction. "Yeah, gotta be the same one as Councilman Vargas with the lips thing. Guess that means we've got another serial killer in this charming little town of ours. Gordon will be happy to hear that."
Montoya sighed. That was all they needed. "I swear to god, there must be something in the water here," she grumbled. "It seems like we attract them."
"Like a moth to flame," he snorted.
"Guess we should just be happy we're popular, huh?" Neither of them laughed at the lame attempt at humor, settling instead to watch a fingerprint technician scrub the silverware for prints. Finally, when the man moved on to one of the other place settings Montoya turned to the older man. "Anything interesting?"
Bullock finally turned to the younger detective, subtly switching to his more professional persona in front of her. "Found a couple of red hairs again, same as last time. No sign of forced entry and nothing obvious stolen. We got ahold of their son and he's going to ID them and make an inventory of the house after we've gotten the bodies out. Other than that, zilch."
"Anything on the son or anyone else that could benefit from their death?"
"Nah. Whole bunch of em are wealthy and clean. No hidden debts or questionable affiliations that we've been able to dig up yet. From what I've seen, none of their kids had any motive for any of this." He waved his hands to include the scene in front of them. "Gut tells me this is something else, but we'll dig at em a bit anyway."
"First a City Councilman and now a Zoning Commissioner. Could this be something political?" she wondered aloud, more to herself than to anyone in particular.
Harvey had looked back to watch the technicians again when he'd finished his rundown but glanced at her out of the corner of her eye when she began talking to herself. "Wouldn't be the first time these dumbasses managed to step into something that got them in over their head." He nodded though as he ran the thoughts through his head. "Something to look into though. See if there's some sorta connection between the two."
Montoya nodded. At least it gave them a direction. Barely.
The analysis done on the poison from the first murder had come back inconclusive. It was organic, but not identifiable through any of the normal databases, a fact that was decidedly unusual. Apparently it took great skill and perseverance to develop a new poisonous substance. Especially one that was unlike anything seen or catalogued before in medicine. The doctors at Gotham University that the police regularly consulted had been downright stunned by it, giddy in that weird way men of their profession could be in light of a new, albeit deadly, discovery. It was becoming plainly clear that Crane had been a special brand of crazy, one that possessed a similar amount of intelligence and madness.
After the murder of the Wallace's it was also obvious that he wasn't alone in that respect.
That just added to the already long list of questions. Questions without even the barest hint of an answer.
Vargas' cause of death had been labeled as acute organ and systematic neural failure due to absorption of an unknown biologically derived neurotoxin. Montoya had actually had to call and have that explained to her by the medical examiner. In the end it simply meant that he'd been killed by a poison absorbed through his lips that had quickly worked to shut down his body, killing him. Certainly a unique weapon, one that looked as though it had probably made another appearance, but one that was also going to be incredibly tricky to track down. The list of people and places capable of such a thing probably wouldn't be long, but it promised to be well hidden.
She ran her hands through her hair as she watched one worker snap pictures of fingernails of the victims.
As if Gotham's assorted murderers and crazies needed new ways to kill people. For most getting shot, stabbed, or run over was more than enough. Even crazies like the Joker generally agreed with the simple, tried and true methods. Now there were those out there poisoning people with an untraceable toxin or putting a bullet through somebody's head from almost a half mile away.
Just another, headache inducing day at Major Crimes she silently mused.
"You see Ramirez on your way in?"
"What? No," Montoya said, confused. She almost turned in reaction to look back down the darkened hallway.
"Yeah, she was already here when I arrived, looking around," Bullock snorted. "No idea how or why, but I promptly booted her ass the hell outta here. Figured you might have seen her on your way in."
Renee just shook her head. Why the hell would the infamous outcast detective be at a crime scene that she would never have been called into in a million years? "Maybe she's working a case that she thinks might be related?"
Harvey grunted again in thought. The man practically had a vocabulary of guttural noises and snorts so long as one knew what to listen for. "Doubt it. She may have been a pretty decent detective, but she's firmly on the Commissioner's shit list. There's no way he lets her anywhere near something this high profile."
Montoya knew the rumors about Anna Ramirez. One of the bright up-and-comers in Major Crimes before the whole Joker incident, she'd just as quickly plummeted back down to earth. Nobody knew the truth or at least whatever truth Gordon was privy to. Rumors around the precinct ran the spectrum from corruption to breaking off an affair with the Commissioner. Either way, she was just window dressing now, a pretty face that collected a paycheck and was allowed to do little else.
Bullock grunted again when he saw the confusion that was still etched on her young face. "Yeah, I don't get it either, but whatever."
A/N: Thoughts on my Riddler? Very curious to see what everyone thinks as he is a bit of a departure. My vision? A grizzled and disheveled chain smoking Jackie Earle Haley. There will be no camp here...the man is smart and lethal.
Thank you to all who have favorited or subscribed to this story. Please take the time to let me know how things are coming. I might decide to get writer's block otherwise.
