Hey all! Sorry about taking so long, I was out of town for a few days. I'll try to make up for it this week :P
So, without any further ado...
Oswald Cobblepot, also known as the Penguin due to his beak-like nose and penchant for tuxedoes, wakes up with a start as I cut open his cheek with a scalpel. His eyes open wide and he tries his best to look around the room, but quickly finds he can't move his head. His eyes finally settle on me.
"You!" he says, recognizing me. "What's going on?"
"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," I point out. I move a few paces, my hand hovering over my knives, considering which one to use. "You're an exception for me," I continue, making conversation. "I don't normally bother with someone who hasn't killed anyone. Well," I look up at Oswald, "not directly anyways. Actually, let's be honest, not that I can prove."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Oswald barks, trying and failing to sound in control.
"Let me refresh your memory." I pick up a stainless steel butcher knife. "Not only do I know from personal experience that you sell weapons to just about anybody, but I know that you sold a substantial number of them to the Joker. Hardly the most responsible person to trust with something like that."
"Aha." Cobblepot actually calms down a little. "So that's what this is about." I lean against the table behind me, opting to let Oswald talk. "Who sent you then? Maroni? Falcone? Someone new who needs a foothold?"
Oswald's decided I've been sent by someone in Gotham's far-reaching underworld to find out where the Joker is. It makes sense from his perspective. I've heard the Joker is hated by the mob, and if someone wanted more territory, he'd be the most acceptable one to target. No one's allied with him; no one will defend him or retaliate on his behalf. None of that changes the fact that Oswald is wrong, but it might help me.
I still don't say anything though. Sometimes the best way to get someone to talk is to just wait. It always surprises me how often my victims think my kill-rooms are an appropriate confessional.
"I hate to disappoint you, my boy," Oswald chuckles casually, "especially seeing the trouble you've gone to in order to frighten me. But as of tonight, there's nothing I can tell you. The Joker's weapon shipment is on the move by now, and it's either made it to its destination or been stopped by the Bat. I haven't the slightest idea where the Joker is. He wouldn't trust me with that." He pretends to be wracking his brain for a way to help. "I'm sure he'll want more soon though. I can promise to get in contact with you as soon as I know something. That is, of course," he pauses for effect, "if you let me go."
"No thanks." I push up off the table holding the knives, walking around Oswald, trying to decide where to make the first slice.
"No thanks?" Oswald repeats, confused. His eyes open wide again. He thinks he's made another brilliant realization. "Did you think I was about to describe you to the Bat? Is that what this is about? I can assure you, all my transactions are completely confidential."
"Unless the Joker is involved?"
"Well, that's a special case. The Joker is a monster."
"And yet you sold an arsenal to him."
"He forced me to!" Oswald tries desperately. "That's why I went to the Bat!"
"So the Joker's the only one you have a problem giving guns to?" I ask. "I guess everyone else is using them for more noble causes?"
"What do you want from me? My silence? I promise you I won't say anything!"
"I know you won't."
"You'll let me go?" Relief creeps into Oswald's voice.
"No."
"Then what do you want?"
Haven't I made it obvious at this point? "To kill you."
Oswald goes silent, but starts shaking. He looks at me in terror, finally seeing me for what I am. His silence ends when I press the butcher knife into his substantial thigh, slicing through the thick layers of fat and quickly reaching muscle and bone. Blood gushes out as I sever the major arteries of the leg, taking less than a second to pool and spill out onto the floor.
Cobblepot's office is dark. I expected that. He wouldn't want to use it as long as it has a gaping hole instead of a window. That hole, combined with the fact that the office should be empty, makes it a perfect entrance point.
The office isn't empty though. A look through my infrared goggles disproves that assumption. Watching the person in the office, I decide that going in won't set off any alarms. Whoever they are, they're sitting casually on Cobblepot's desk in the dark. They can't be part of the Iceberg Lounge's security.
I switch to my night-vision goggles and then, like before, I jump off the building I'm perched on and glide across the street, swooping into the office. My flight continues past the desk and I land close to the door, blocking it for whoever else is inside. Although I'm nearly silent and blend into the darkness, the wind rushing by the intruder will be enough to tell them I'm here.
I turn around to look at the person on the desk as I stand. He's a man, dressed in a three-piece suit, tailored to fit his trim body. He's sitting with his legs crossed, dangling them over the side of the desk. His head is down, his face hidden by a bowler hat, but the cane he's playing with, topped with a question mark, tells me all I need to know.
"Nigma," I growl, addressing him. "Where's Cobblepot?"
He continues to spin his cane, looking down at the floor. "Gone, missing, in absentia," he responds before he finally meets my gaze. "He apparently disappeared off the face of the planet just over an hour ago."
"Why are you here?"
The cane stops spinning. "I'm here on business."
"Business?" I repeat. My eyes narrow. "You're here to buy from Cobblepot."
"Tut tut, Dark Knight, moving so quickly to baseless accusations." Nigma hops up off the desk and begins to walk around it, stepping carefully around broken glass. "You see, the Penguin, for obvious reasons, would prefer not to have police milling around his precious Iceberg Lounge. Ergo, if he has some questions he needs answered, he calls me." Nigma crouches down to look at a spot of blood on the carpet. "Hypothetically, if several of his, for lack of a better term, hired apes, were to suddenly find the Penguin absent without leave…"
"They get you to find him."
"Precisely." Nigma stands and turns to look at me. "I've figured out what happened here easily enough-"
"By asking the witnesses-"
"No," Nigma stops me, brandishing his cane. "Eye-witness testimony is untrustworthy. People lie, their imperfect minds play tricks, but evidence…" He trails off, turning back to the scene. "The first thing to happen was the window shattering," he proclaims grandly. "Someone burst in, and proceeded to dispatch with the Penguin's security, there, there and there." He points to each spot where Cobblepot's guards hit the floor with his cane in the order that they fell. He looks back at me again slyly. "I'm guessing that was you?"
I don't react, but I am a little impressed he got the order right. Still, just about anyone in Gotham might assume this was my handiwork.
"After that, you left." He shrugs. "Even you can't be in two places at once. Do you want me to tell you the rest?"
"That depends," I say. "Do you want to keep all your teeth?"
Nigma holds up a hand. "Alright, no need to get touchy. After your, well, assault, the Penguin went to clean up." Nigma points to an open door leading to a bathroom with his cane. "And then… Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"He vanished completely. No one saw him, or anyone else, leave. Either he left of his own volition, or he was abducted almost surgically."
Surgically. That sounds familiar.
"There's one other thing that I'm going to let you in on as a gesture of good-will," Nigma continues. "I've investigated the office, and I know the Penguin has had recent dealings with the Joker."
"Is that so?"
"Don't patronize me Dark Knight, I know you already know that. Just remember, I did say this was a gesture of good-will. A peace offering. Something that will convince you to let me go on my merry way and try to keep you in the loop."
"Get to the point."
"Yes, well, since I've been here I've spoken to a few of my… associates, to see if I can't get some information even you wouldn't be privy to. Since the Joker was working on something secretive that the Penguin knew about, I've already deduced that the Joker was the one who wanted the Penguin silenced. At the moment, it seems no one knows where the Joker is, but I have a friend of a friend who tells me the Joker is working with others, others who might have more information."
"Spit it out, Nigma."
"The Joker, for whatever reason, has been working with the Mad Hatter." Nigma pauses, smug. "I bet you hadn't gotten that far yet."
I mull this over. Nigma's conclusion is wrong – the Joker wasn't involved with Cobblepot's disappearance. I do have to admit, at least to myself anyways, that I didn't know about Hatter. "Do you know where he is?" I ask.
"Not yet," Nigma shakes his head. "But I bet I can find him before you."
I don't like letting Nigma go. But he's given me a clue that might lead me to the Joker, and he may go further with it. I turn and stride out of the office, crushing glass into the carpet. "Let me know if you find anything."
"Oh I will, Dark Knight. I will."
It's after midnight when I unlock the door to the motel room the Gotham City Police Department is graciously paying for. I step inside and stop. There's light coming from beneath the bathroom door, and I know I turned off all the lights when I left.
I move forward quietly and listen. I can't hear any movement from inside the small bathroom next to the entrance. I place my hand on the doorknob and silently turn it before I burst inside, ready to surprise whoever is inside.
The bathroom is empty, but there's fog on the mirror and wet footprints on the floor, leading back out into the short hallway to the rest of the room. I quickly step back outside and turn to inspect the rest of the room, but before I can, something hits me with the force of a speeding truck, knocking me flat to the ground. Whatever hit me lands square on my stomach, making it difficult to breathe.
I look up, trying to make out what hit me in the sparse light coming from the bathroom, when the thing leans over and I realize it's not a 'what' but a 'who'. Harley Quinn's bright blue eyes stare down at me, wrapped in a towel, her hair wet and dripping onto my chest. Her left arm, out of its sling but still in a cast, has obviously healed enough to not be completely useless, as she's using it to hold up her towel.
"Hi there, Dexter!" she greets me cheerfully.
At first I just groan, struggling to speak with her weight on my diaphragm. "How do you know my name?" I finally manage to get out.
"Oh, I've been learnin' all about you while you were out," she explains. "F'rinstance, I found out you work for the cops. Ya think they'd be interested ta know about what happened to Croc?"
I shove Harley off of me. "What do you want?" I ask.
"Just… a favour," she replies as we both stand. "See, I've been doin' some mental arithmetic, and I realized that I helped you twice, and you only helped me once, so the way I see it, you owe me one."
I consider that for a second. She pulled me off the streets and stopped me from bleeding out, I saved her from Oswald's thugs, and she helped me lure Waylon out of the sewers. She does have a point. On top of that, helping her might build enough trust to get her to lead me to the Joker. "Fair enough," I say. "That still doesn't tell me what you want."
"I was gettin' to that. Anyways, while you were off playin' with Croc, the Bat was sneakin' around in my apartment, which means I got no place to stay."
"You're not staying here," I tell her flatly.
"That wasn't what I was gonna propose," she corrects me. "I want a place on my own. One in a nice neighbourhood where everyone knows not to ask questions. And I want the rent paid up for three months up front."
"There's no way I'm giving you that kind of money."
"That's the beauty of it," she smiles happily. "You don't have to. I have a place all picked out that already fits all my requirements. There's just one problem."
I catch on. "Somebody's already living there."
"Yup," she nods. "So I just need you to go in, and make him disappear."
"Why would you think I would do that?"
"Well you did it to Zsasz and Croc, so obviously-"
"What are you talking about?" I interrupt her.
She smiles mischievously. "You mean how do I know about Zsasz?" she asks. "I'm not an idiot, ya know. Most people think I am, but I can put two and two together. Last night the Bat asked me why the Joker killed Zsasz, and I got ta thinkin', why would he connect Mistah J to that? Then I realized he was sayin' that Zsasz's death and you huntin' down Croc were connected, and he only thought it was Mistah J on accounta my presence there."
I don't react, instead staring darkly at Harley. I have to admit I'm impressed, even in my irritation.
"So," Harley smiles cheerfully again, "will ya do it?"
"I can't do that," I interrupt her.
"I… have standards," are the words I finally settle on.
"Standards?" she repeats, perplexed. "Whaddaya mean?"
I briefly consider telling her, but decide against it. I want her to trust me. Telling her she's a potential victim probably isn't the best approach. "You're going to have to tell me who it is," I finally say.
"Awww, why do ya wanna take all the surprise outta life?" she giggles. "It's the Mad Hatter."
The Mad Hatter, also known as Jervis Tetch. From what I know of him, he has an obsession with Alice in Wonderland, which he expresses by kidnapping children and forcing them to act out scenes using dangerous combinations of drugs, leaving behind a trail of over-doses and tiny corpses. I'd given up hope on finding him, and now he's being given to me.
"I can be ready tomorrow night," I answer quickly. "You can stay here as long as you don't draw any attention to yourself."
Harley snaps her right hand to her forehead in a salute. "Aye aye!" she exclaims happily.
It's almost morning. There's nothing more I can do right now to search for Cobblepot, so I decide to spend the last few minutes of darkness seeing if Quinn has changed her mind about talking.
Her apartment is dark. She could be sleeping, but she, like most of her fellow criminals, tends to keep a nocturnal schedule. I head in through a window as I did last night.
Nothing has moved since I was here. Not only that, but an extremely thin layer of dust coats everything. She hasn't been home since late last night. I think back. I moved a few things, looking for clues as to where she might have gone. Maybe she realized I was here.
Maybe she was feeling paranoid after seeing me in the area last night.
Suddenly, an unconscious thought that I didn't realize was nagging me clicks into focus. Last night, when I'd seen Quinn baiting Croc, I connected Croc and Zsasz and then assumed the Joker was behind it. Why else would Quinn be involved?
But when I spoke to Cobblepot, he mentioned something about a hunter. He didn't mention the Joker at all. Cobblepot had no reason not to sell out the Joker any further, so that means that either he didn't know the Joker was involved – or the Joker isn't involved at all.
I leave Quinn's apartment. She's working with someone else now, making her my best lead on finding both the Joker and Cobblepot's hunter.
