Arnold Wesker stared at the ground, blinking nervously under the bright fluorescent lights of the visitor's room. The balding, middle-aged man was the picture of meekness, his small eyes blinking timidly from behind thick glasses as he waited for the orderlies to release his handcuffs.
"Er… er… why am I here?" he ventured, as one of the men unlocked his cuffs and led him to a chair next to a telephone and a clear plastic window. "I haven't done anything wrong…"
"Doc's orders," the man said gruffly. "There's someone who wants to talk with you."
Arnold's face went chalk white.
"Is it Mr. Scarface? He, he hasn't been making trouble, has he? He's very particular about th-things, you know…"
"Relax," the other orderly grunted. "It's Robin."
"Oh," Wesker said, with a sigh of relief. Then the worry came back into his face. "He… he doesn't think I've done anything, does he?"
"Why don't you ask him?" the first orderly said, pointing at the glass.
Wesker looked up to see Robin just sitting down on the other side of the window. Quickly, he picked up the telephone and stammered into the speaker.
"H-hello?"
"Hello, Wesker," Robin said, almost amiably.
"W-what's this all about? I, I haven't done anything, I promise!"
"I know you haven't. I just wanted to ask you some questions," Robin said calmly, "you know, about your therapy group?"
"Oh," Wesker sighed, relaxing in the chair. "Well, I—I don't go to those very often. It's actually for Mr. Scarface, but he makes me come along every time… well, almost every time," he finished sadly.
Robin looked confused.
"Where is Mr. Scarface?"
Wesker looked down.
"He got into a fight," he admitted. "W-with Mr. Zeus. I tried to stop him, but…" his voice trailed off. "They put him in solitary, I think. H-he's been yelling at Mr. Dent all day."
"Ah," Robin said. "Tell me, did Crane or Nygma ever talk about… well, what they would do when they got out in therapy?"
"Oh, yes," Arnold nodded. "Dr. Crane was always talking about it. H-he was going to get his license back and move somewhere far, far away and start over."
"What about Nygma?"
Arnold hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Mr. Nygma was always boasting about how smart he was. I guess he really is a genius, though. He stumped Mr. Scarface…"
"Did they ever talk about any hideouts they had?" Robin wanted to know.
"Well, yes," Arnold said slowly. "A-after Mr. Scarface got put into solitary, they started arguing about t-turf. I wasn't supposed to hear it, but… Mr. Nygma said h-he had a really good place to hide, and Mr. Scarface starting yelling that it was on his turf."
Robin's mind was racing. Putting the telephone down, he walked over to the two-way glass and knocked gently. After a few minutes, Dr. Bartholomew came back into the room.
"Would it be possible to get Mr. Scarface in here for a few minutes?" Robin asked quietly.
Dr. Bartholomew looked uncomfortable.
"You'd have to ask Dr. Leland," he said. "She's in charge of Wesker's treatment, and she had Scarface removed…"
"I'm not asking you to return it to him," Robin said. "Just bring Scarface in for a few minutes."
Dr. Bartholomew thought about it for a few seconds.
"I don't see why not," he said finally.
On the other side of the glass, Arnold Wesker fidgeted nervously. He couldn't hear what Robin and Dr. Bartholomew were discussing, but he had a strong sense that it was about him. He was about to knock on the glass and ask Robin about it when the door opened, and an orderly came in carrying…
"Mr. Scarface!"Wesker exclaimed.
The wooden puppet stared lifelessly off into space, but the voice that came from it was anything but lifeless.
"There you are, Dummy! What's going on here? I've geen locked up for nearly a week!"
"Oh yes, Mr. Scarface," Arnold said hastily, taking the dummy from the orderly and placing his hand in its back. "You started a fight."
"Started a fight, ha! I don't start fights, I finish 'em," Scarface growled. "What are we doin' here, anyway?"
"Er, er, Robin's been asking questions," Arnold Wesker explained quickly.
The dummy's glass eyes slowly shifted from the Ventriloquist to the masked figure on the other side of the glass. Wesker carefully picked up the phone and held it to Scarface's mouth.
"Well, well, if it ain't the Goy Wonder," the puppet sneered. "Where's Gatman?"
Robin clenched his teeth.
"That's none of your concern, Scarface," he said. "I just want to ask some questions."
"Ask away. Gut I ain't promisin' no answers."
"Where's Nygma's newest hideout?" Robin demanded.
"Nygma's hideout! Youse got it all wrong!" Scarface exploded. "Puzzle Man's in my hideout, the little rat! When I get that little creep, we're going fer a ride."
"Mr. Scarface!" Arnold exclaimed.
"Shut up, Dummy! Who asked you, huh?" the dummy snapped. "An' as fer you, Roggin, youse can just go goil yourself, cause I ain't talkin'."
"No? That's too bad, then," Robin said. "I guess I'll have to leave the Riddler inside your hideout for a few more weeks then… let him find all your stashes of guns and spend all your money… he's probably already painted it green, you know."
"I'll kill him," snarled Scarface. "I'll greak his neck!"
"No, Mr. Scarface!" Arnold exclaimed, horrified. "That would be murder!"
"Course it would!" growled the puppet. "Serves 'im right, too!"
"But… if you tell Robin where Nygma's hiding, he'll go to jail," Wesker said.
"Naw, he won't. He'll end up gack here. And then Gatman will find our best hideout. You'd getter leave the thinkin' ta me, Dummy."