Get a Scoop

Working late nights was getting to the shrink, but Erie was dedicated to his work if nothing else. Sometimes a person in his profession had to give up precious hours of sleep in order to make sure they were on the right track. That included reflections on current casework, documentation, and of course covering his ass.

In case of a complaint or malpractice suit, what else would he mean by that?

Now, while it wasn't encouraged, Erie had the habit of bringing the files of certain clients home with him. Sometimes a change in setting was necessary to gain a new perspective on a client, or at the very least the time interval between leaving the office and arriving at home took your mind of it long enough that you could look at it with a fresher set of eyes. Said files were in a briefcase he was currently carrying.

With his coat held in one arm, he approached the door to his penthouse and inserted the key into the lock, finding it a bit odd when he discovered that the door itself wasn't locked. There was no tell-tell sliding of the locking mechanism, meaning he either forgot to lock up that morning or something was off.

Hmm, why couldn't he remember if he had locked up this morning?

Well, he could go in cautiously. What were the odds that someone had entered his home if he had indeed left it unlocked? Considering where his penthouse was located, it was highly unlikely.

Shrugging his shoulders, he opened the door and entered.

He came to a complete stop as he found his home lit up and with several guests waiting there, all of their eyes trained on him. Only one of them was sitting, on a couch no less, the rest were standing at what appeared to be random locations. Of those standing, they all looked like the rough type, brawlers, street fighters, and the like, their clothing being tight or covered with light jackets.

The only individual who was sitting was much more well-dressed. Overly dressed when compared to the other men. It was obvious, this white-haired gentleman was the leader.

So, Erie did what he would normally do in this particular situation.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, showing no sign of fear or anxiety.

"Dr. Victor Erie, I presume?" the white haired gentleman asked. Getting a nod from the shrink, the well-dressed man continued, "Close the door and have a seat. You and I have something to discuss."

Anyone else would have attempted to escape. Anyone else would have tried to protest. Anyone else would have tried to object. Erie was not anyone else; he placed his coat on the nearby coat rack, closed the door behind him, and strolled over to his favorite chair, currently unoccupied. He placed his briefcase down on the floor as he took his offered seat.

"I think you and I might get along," the white-haired gentleman chuckled. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"You resemble a man by the name of…Rupert Thorne, I believe," Erie answered without skipping a beat. "Shall I refer to you by that moniker or do you prefer something else?"

"Rupert will do," Rupert said. "Before we begin, I would like to get something straight with you, Victor. I'm a very easygoing man. I'm not quick to anger. Most of all, I dislike violence. My boys here, on the other hand, they are more the type to hit first, ask questions later."

Rupert's "boys" gave taunting chuckles, sneering and smirking at him.

"As long as you work with me, I believe your chances of…I don't know, having an accident will be very slim," Rupert continued. "You see, my boys listen to me. If I say don't hurt the doc, they won't. Now, if you bore me with any of your psychobabble nonsense, I might zone out for a moment, more than enough time for one of them to get out of line and cause you some discomfort."

One such "boy" took a position behind Erie, cracking his knuckles to underscore the point as he grinned wickedly down at the shrink.

"Very well," Erie agreed, reaching up a handle to adjust his glasses. "What do you wish to discuss?"

"It has come to my attention that Harvey Dent has been coming to see you," Rupert stated.

"I cannot confirm or deny if anyone by that name has been to see me," Erie spoke up immediately.

"Now, now, Victor. There's no need for that," Rupert remarked, an edge in his voice making itself known.

"It is for confidentiality reasons that I say that," Erie replied. "If you were to see me and the police came around asking about you, I would say the same thing. With that said, what is it you want? It is obvious to me that you aren't here to talk about a man named Harvey Dent."

"Alright, let's get straight to the point. You shrinks all keep files on your patients, right? I want the one you have on Harvey Dent and don't you deny that you are seeing him," Thorne warned.

"You have to understand, Rupert, I cannot say if I have a client by that name," Erie said, seemingly unfazed by the threat. "If I did, I would lose my license to practice. You of all people should know how hard it is get licensed."

"I wouldn't," Rupert deadpanned.

"Well, what I can tell you is that I am seeing an individual who may be involved in a campaign for the district attorney's office," Erie said. "In fact, I have this person's file with me in my briefcase. Let me tell you, I am quite concerned about this…person. Unfortunately, I am in no position to do anything about it."

"You don't say," Rupert prompted, apparently catching on.

"Indeed," the shrink agreed. "However, I do believe a man in your position might be able to." Reaching down, he picked up his briefcase and placed it on his lap. Opening it up, he shifted through the various folders until he removed one. "Now, how this file happens to reach you, I don't know. I can't know. Otherwise I would be in a lot of trouble." Erie turned his head to his left and casually held the selected file up with his right hand. "I hope you understand my position."

From the corner of his eye, he observed Rupert looking up at his "boy" and nodding his head. The file he held was tugged out of the psychiatrist's loose grip. The "boy" carried the folder over to Rupert who received it with all the dignity of a king, and opened it quickly with the grace of a paparazzi reporter.

Erie closed his eyes then, holding back a chuckle. Aloud, he spoke, "I hope a concerned citizen such as yourself realizes the enormity of the situation. As I am bound by a code of ethics that prevents me from ever divulging any information regarding that file, a man of your stature isn't."

"This isn't all bullshit?" Rupert demanded. "Tell me this isn't bullshit."

"There is absolutely no reason for me to falsity a client's file, Rupert," Erie replied. "While I cannot confirm or deny the truth about the information, the client whose name is on that file will be able to."

"You shrinks and your vague answers." The edge in Rupert's voice was gone, replaced with a more jovial tone, one similar to how he had introduced himself this night. "I'll take that as a convoluted yes."

"Rupert, if I may? I would ask a favor of you. You cannot implicate me in your reception of this information," Erie told the other man.

"As long as this is real, I'll say it fell off the back of a truck," Rupert replied. "However, if I find out you have been duping me, I will pay you another visit and it won't be as cordial as this one."

"Of course," Erie agreed.

"Come on, boys. Let's leave the doc here to his very nice penthouse." Erie opened his eyes again and observed through the corner of his eye as his late night visitors began following their leader out. A couple looked disgruntled that they hadn't been able to pummel anything and they took aggressive stances as they passed him.

Amateurs.

Erie waited until he heard the sound of his front door closing shut before he gave out a chuckle. Simpletons, pawns, the lot of them. Did they really think they had intimidated him? He had been in the company of worse individuals and had come out without a feather ruffled.

Games of intimidated did not work on him. Nonetheless, Rupert's initiative of coming to see him warranted a reward of sorts.

It saved the shrink the trouble of contacting the mob boss himself.

"Thanks for letting me hitch a ride, Montoya. Things are just getting ugly at the station."

Bullock heaved a sigh as he sat back in his seat, a passenger in his former Rook's squad car. Normally, he'd be doing that task force business, but ever since Cort's suspension, things at the department had been getting ugly. If there were people who hadn't taken a side, they had now.

"It's not a problem, Harvey. Things have been getting tense," Montoya agreed, eyes on the road. For all the good that did, since they were in bumper to bumper traffic. An accident blocked off an intersection and you could have sworn all hell had been let loose. Or at least everything had stopped up and people who were stuck were getting pissed off.

Bullock snorted in reply to his Rook. "That's an understatement. Who knew Cort was so well-liked?"

"He might be a hardass, but he knows how to rally people. Especially when things are a mess," his Ro—ahem, Montoya pointed out. "He got everyone to that construction site, and quickly too, remember. Plus, some of the guys on his side are Gordon haters. Since you were involved, it's just a chance to make things hard for him."

"Christ, you'd think we were past that shit," Bullock grumbled.

"It's not as bad as you'd think. At least they're all still working." Montoya shrugged her shoulders as she blew air threw her lips. How very un-lady-like of her. Not that Bullock gave a shit about it. If you could slug a guy and break his teeth, then down a couple bottles of brew, you'd be sexy as fuck.

"Then what's with all the taking of sides. It's stupid," Bullock complained.

"It's all about Batman, you know," the lady detective explained. "There's a lot of guys out there who really hate him, like Cort. They want him out of the picture, even if they have to kill him to do it."

"He should answer for it, that's what he should do," Bullock growled.

"Who should?" Montoya glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"The Bat freak, who else?" Bullock shot his former Rook a look before turning back to the back of the car in front of them. "It would make it a lot easier on us. No more of this pissing contest shit. Then we could really get some work done. Now be honest with me: what do you think?"

"About what?" Bullock narrowed his eyes at Montoya's cautious tone.

"You know. Batfreak."

Montoya took a deep breath in, not answering right away. In some ways, that told the lieutenant all he needed to know, but damn it, he wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth already. "I—"

The car shook at the same time he heard a loud thump. The thing is, the thump sounded like it came from above. Bullock blinked before looking over at Montoya, silently asking her if she heard what he thought he had. The look she gave him said she had.

Noise from outside the car diverted Bullock's attention and he found a bunch of people all along the sidewalk staring at their car. Some had their jaws wide open, eyes bulging out of their sockets. A couple had their phones up, like they were recording something.

Suddenly, getting a bright idea, Bullock rolled down the window and peeked his head out to see what was up. What he found was a giant animal, brown in color with large ass ears and some of the longest and sharpest teeth he had ever seen poking out of its mouth. Red, beady eyes were narrowing at him as a growl came from the large body that was bent over the roof of the car. The only other thing of note that Bullock saw were the toes of the thing's feet, sharp claws digging into the patrol car.

Slowly, Bullock pulled his head back in and faced forward.

"What is it?" Montoya asked.

"I don't know what it is, but the only thing I can think to do is shoot it then find out what it is," Bullock said in a calm and even voice. Then, he pulled out his gun, Montoya yelling his name right before he fired right up into the roof.

The patrol car shook as whatever was on top leapt off it, giving a loud screech as it did. Spotting the heads of the bystanders looking up told the lieutenant that the thing had gone up but had yet to come down. Shoving open the door, and counting his luck that he hadn't buckled up, Bullock threw himself out of the car, searching for the thing and finding it flying down the street.

Memories of the construction site fiasco came to him and he scowled. He remembered seeing something like that before, though there had been a lot more bats around. Was this Papa Bat then? Because those were a pair of very big wings it was using. And damn it, it was getting…away…?

Without warning, the giant bat thing divebombed downwards, and even from here he could hear the sound of the crash. Either that was a very loud sound or it was closer than he thought. Time to pursue on foot.

"Out of the way people! Cop coming through!"

You know, maybe pursuing on foot wasn't such a good idea. Bullock was not in the same shape he had been when he was younger. The belly might not have disappeared, but he hadn't kept such a rigorous exercise regime that would allow him to get fifty feet before he started to breathe hard. Not that such a thing was going to stop him!

Just…don't go too far, whatever the hell you were!

And damn it, people! Get the hell out of his way!

Finally, he reached the site where the bat-thing had landed and found an overturned vendor cart, its wares spilling out onto the sidewalk, and the large animal crouched on top of it. As if sensing him, the bat-thing snapped its head to stare him down, juice trickling from its mouth. In one hand that had ridiculously long fingers was the remains of a melon of some kind, a large bite taken out of it.

"Don't you dare move!" Bullock commanded as he attempted to aim his gun at it.

Attempted being the key word. Before he could get the barrel of his weapon aimed right, the bat-thing had took off back into the air, flapping those massive wings as it went higher and higher until vanishing over the top of a building.

Bullock swore to himself as he holstered his firearm. There was no way he was going to be chasing that thing down. And forget about any backup he could call for. They'd be searching this city all over for that thing and would find nothing. If it wasn't going to attack anyone, that monster was probably looking for some place to hide.

The lieutenant found his thoughts being interrupted as he registered someone yelling at him. Turning his head, Bullock found the person he assumed owned the trashed fruit cart gesturing wildly, and talking in some weird Middle Eastern language. Probably didn't even know a lick of English.

Rolling his eyes, Bullock grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, welcome to Gotham."

It got weirder with every year.

"Vale!" Harry's voice shouted, carrying over the constant chatter of the newsroom.

Vicki leaned back in her chair, twisting her head to a side so she could peer over the chair's shoulder. Her balding editor with the rather sad-looking combover was marching towards her, his necktie sloppily loosened and his shirt unkempt.

"What is it, Harry?" the redhead drawled as her boss came to a stop next to her.

"I want to know why you've decided to grow roots from your ass to your chair," Harry demanded, glaring down at her.

Vicki rolled her eyes. These outbursts were so annoying. Sure, everyone needed a kick in the rear to get going at times; Lord knew she needed it once. However, these little tirades were starting to become a weekly thing. It was a wonder that she got any work done.

"That's because I'm waiting for a few leads to come in," she replied lazily, looking away from the editor to stare at her computer screen. The prompt for her next story was on the monitor, though not much writing had taken place.

"Waiting," Harry repeated unimpressed. "Well, would you like to know what I'm waiting for? You to write an actual good article."

Vicki's eyes flashed with rage as she immediately glared daggers at her boss. "Up yours, Harry."

The man was not affected by her scowl, returning hers with one of his own. "It's been months since you put out a quality article, Vicki. You used to churn one out every couple of weeks, but now there's a better chance of the drought in California ending than you getting out of this funk of yours."

"I'll have you know I have a big freaking story I'm working on," the redhead continued to seethed. "It's just not ready is all."

"Oh really? Care to share with the rest of the class what you're working on?"

That gave the reporter pause. As much as she would've loved to rub her Batman/Bruce Wayne story in the man's face, she knew exactly what he'd say. That she was crazy; that she should drop the story; that she better be damn certain she was right about this. Hell, he'd probably make her scrap the entire thing after calling it a big waste of time.

"Well, the thing is, it's not quite ready," she stumbled over her words. "That's why I'm waiting on these leads to pan out. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

That did nothing to sway Harry. "Consider me unimpressed. Do you know what impresses me, Vicki? The GCPD going guns blazing into an empty construction site. A swarm of bats invading the city. The major diamond bust on the East Side. Take your goddamn pick, any of them are a lot more entertaining than some mysterious story you claim to be working on."

Vicki couldn't help but roll her eyes again, which only served to piss Harry off further. "Don't you give me that look," he snapped harshly. "Our subscribers are leaving, which means we're not making as much money as we used to, which means this newspaper isn't doing well, which means more of this lazy shit you're doing is putting you right at the top of the list to get pink-slipped when management decides layoffs are the only way we can survive."

"You wouldn't dare," Vicki shot back just as harshly. "I'm one of the top reporters at this paper. You get rid of me and you lose your star. No damn way would you ever fire me."

"Oh, really?" With a flourish, Harry pulled a folded up newspaper from beneath his arm and slapped it down on the desk in front of her. Eyeing it, there was a black and white photo of some dot flying in the sky. It was hard to tell what it was, but the headline screamed GIANT BAT SIGHTED.

"What the hell is this?" the redhead questioned.

"That is the latest hot story running around the city," her editor replied. "There have been sightings of some giant bat running around."

"Okay, so?"

"So? Look who published it. The goddamn Gazette. Not the Star."

"I still don't see—"

"Shut your damn mouth," Harry interrupted loudly. "What I'm saying is that the other papers have got the inside scoop on this so-called giant bat. We're at the end of the fucking line with our coverage. Now, if you want to keep your job, you're going out there to find out everything you can on this bat-thing. Then you're going to find out something that none of the other media outlets know so that way we're the ones leading on this story."

As much as Vicki didn't want to, she had to admit that she probably needed to do the story. Now that she honestly thought about it, she hadn't been producing much work since she started on her operative theory concerning the city's number one vigilante. She would just have to work on that story as a side project rather than her main one.

"Alright, I'll see what I can dig up," the reported relented.

"Good, and Vale? Don't screw this up."

This was starting to get to become too common for Francine's tastes.

The last few nights, she had been finding herself going to bed alone. Kirk never appearing until after she was fast asleep. Or so she thought. Because, she was waking up only to find him about to leave before she could even begin her morning routine.

Only yesterday had she found out about Abraham's offer, and she could understand why it would make Kirk skittish. It wasn't as if that man hadn't intruded into their lives before, and Kirk had become scarce after such incidents, but not to this extent. Now that she knew about it, Francine had figured that things would start going back to normal.

But they hadn't.

In fact, when she had woken up this morning, Kirk had been nowhere in their humble apartment. It was like he hadn't come home, or if he had he hadn't stayed long. What was going on with that man?

It was too early in the morning for this. So, stalling before getting into her morning routine, Francine prepared herself some toast and looked up the news online. Her small breakfast had only just finished toasting when articles about some bat creature took up the monitor on her laptop. It was probably some hoax by some yahoo with too much time on their hands. Why practically every media outlet was reporting on it like it was fact mystified her.

Still, it got her mind off Kirk. Oh damn it.

With some peanut butter spread on her toasted piece of bread, Francine had just taken a crusty bite out of it when the doorbell rang. And here she was still in her nightwear and robe. Continuing to chew, she wiped her mouth off and headed towards the door. She was halfway there when the thought of Kirk forgetting his house keys came to her. A thought as ridiculous as those bat stories online; Kirk had never forgotten his house keys.

It was probably a salesman or Jehovah's Witness. Regardless, she was going to tell whoever was on the other side of the door that she wasn't interested and then return to her unfinished breakfast. She didn't even bother to check the peephole as she unlocked the door and opened it.

Immediately she regretted that.

"Francine," greeted the imposing form of Abraham Langstrom, a stern gaze staring her down. It was a look designed specifically for intimidation. It would've worked on anyone, especially Kirk, but Francine was not in the mood for it.

"Abraham. What are you doing here?" she demanded, using her body to block the only entryway into her home.

"Where is he?" the business tycoon demanded in return. Without waiting for her to answer him, Abraham used his larger frame to shove her out of his way and he marched his way into the apartment. "Robert! Get out here."

"Kirk is not here," Francine informed the large man. The Langstrom patriarch had had to bend down to get in here, his height too great for him to simply stroll through. "And I would appreciate it if you left my home, Abraham."

"He's hiding, isn't he?" Abraham rounded on her, his face a mask of hardened stone.

"He's working," she retorted. It was the first thing to come out of her mouth, even though she was not sure where her husband was. Still, she was not about to let this bastard bad mouth him.

Steely brown eyes bore into her, a scowl twisting thin lips ominously. "I will not tolerate any lip from you. I have business with my son that needs to be addressed, and one way or the other, I will speak with him."

"If it's about my husband's work, I believe Lincoln has settled the matter," Francine stated, refusing to back down. She would not be intimidated or frightened in her own damn home, thank you very much!

Abraham stared her down for a moment before he spoke again with that condescending tone of voice he always had. "I had high hopes for you, Francine. When we first met, I saw how ambitious and motivated you were, the complete opposite of that good for nothing wimp I have to call my own offspring. I had hoped that your drive would push that weakling to actually make something of himself, but I've only ever been disappointed."

"That weakling has made something of himself, no thanks to you. Now get out of my house," Francine growled.

"Oh yes, hiding behind his wife like a coward. Yes, Robert has made something of himself, hasn't he?" the businessman taunted back. "He's made himself an even greater disappointment. And then he has the gall to hide behind that weasel, March. Spineless as always and having others fight his battles for him."

"Kirk doesn't need to fight battles."

"Don't test me, Francine. Like I've told Robert countless times, I will not go easy on you," Abraham warned as he turned on his heel, heading towards…the bedroom? That wasn't…

"Where are you going?" Francine shouted after the intruder, following after him. "I will call the police and report you for trespassing."

She should have gone through with that threat already, she knew, but she was too infuriated with this piece of shit to put actions to words. Abraham was at their bedroom dresser, shoving aside the knickknacks and various possessions they had placed on the flat surface.

"What are you doing?" She was making a lot of demands this morning.

"Are you so sure Robert isn't here?" Abraham asked as he looked over his broad shoulder at her, holding up a hand where, clinched between a beefy finger and thumb, was a…hearing aid? "Knowing how impaired he is, I doubt he would leave home without these," he continued. "Where is he?"

While Abraham brought up an excellent point, Francine was in no mood to humor him. "I've already told you, he's not here. Now how about you leave?"

Instead of heeding her, Abraham returned his attention to the dresser, snagging up a wallet that still remained there and opening it up. Francine was caught off guard as she recognized it as Kirk's, though why it was here when it should have been on him confused her. On top of the fact that Kirk's hearing aids were still here, too many questions were being brought up too quickly for her to process them all.

Abraham, meanwhile, had pulled out various business cards and was leafing through them. He stopped on one that seemed to catch his attention and plucked it out before tossing the others aside.

"Robert is seeing a shrink? That boy never ceases to disappoint me," Abraham continued with his demeaning of Kirk. "Why am I always surprised by his increasing level of weakness?" Turning to her, he pressed his verbal assault, "I don't know who this Victor Erie is, but how dare you let him go to this man. He should be able to handle his problems by himself, not go to some head doctor and be convinced to get in touch with his feminine side."

"What Kirk does or doesn't do is no business of yours," Francine argued back.

"Everything he does is my business," Abraham corrected as he approached her. "As are you, my disappointment of a daughter-in-law. I will not tolerate this farce to continue. I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago, and I'm going to start with this Erie person. Mark my words, Francine, this is only the beginning."

Leaning closer to her, he added, "Before I'm through, you will wish Robert had accepted my more than generous offer. You, Robert, and March."

Without saying anything more, Abraham finally left, striding out of the apartment like a man on a mission. Francine glared after him as she emerged from her bedroom, catching the sight of a broad back slipping out and disappearing through the open doorway.

He didn't even close the door behind him.

Growling, Francine hurried over to slam and lock it shut. No way would she chance him coming back in here. Pressing her back against the flat surface, she took in deep breathes to calm herself down from the aggravating situation.

The nerve of that bastard! Who did he think he was barging his way in here and going through their personal things? Calling his own son those horrible things and then talking down to her like she was less than nothing. And then he plans to go bother Kirk's therapist. Abraham was a bastard, through and through.

Then she began to go over that man's words. The details he had picked up, such as Kirk leaving behind not only his wallet but his hearing aids as well. Hearing aids that he was required to wear in order to hear anything. Why would he not have those? It didn't make any sense!

Okay, she knew what she needed to do. Kirk and her were going to have a talk, a very long talk. Not just about the hearing aids, but his recent behavior.

She was going to get to the bottom of this one way or another.