Title: Do Unto Others… : Fourth Time's A Charm
Author: DC Luder
Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.
Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes
Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.
A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.
^V^
Mimi's Bar & Grill, May 26th, 6:23 p.m.
"The usual?" Miranda, or rather Mimi, asked, "Or we've got a summer ale on tap."
Pete nodded as he took a seat at the glossy bar, "I'll try that."
Since he had returned to Gotham City eight years earlier, every Tuesday night, he ate dinner at the small bar. It had once been a quiet tavern known for its friendly staff and tasty food but over the years it had changed into something more. Flat screen televisions on the walls, ladies drank free on Wednesdays, trivia nights and there was stale popcorn in bowls at every table. Pete felt the place had been cheapened by such modifications but it wasn't his place to say so.
Tuesdays had somehow remained fairly quiet, offering draft specials after ten and buy one appetizer get a second half price all night long. Miranda had inherited the business from her parents, taking on her mother's nickname and acting as the manager and primary bartender. Pete had liked the original Mimi but the second had always seemed pleasant and polite, keeping rowdy guests in line and even kicking them off if needed. Pete had informed her he was a security guard and she had smiled warmly, "Well, at least I know I'll have back up on Tuesdays."
While waiting for his drink, he scanned the daily menu, only deciding as Mimi returned with a sweating glass. "What are you hungry for, Pete?"
He couldn't say what he actually desired, instead he replied. "I think the grilled chicken sandwich…a side of steak fries should do it."
Mimi nodded and said, "Probably be ten minutes or so… let me know when you want a refill."
Leaving him to place his order in the kitchen, she continued to tend the few other patrons sitting sporadically throughout the bar. Pete spotted a group of four in the booth in the back drinking pitchers of beer and eating chicken wings. Another three or so middle aged men sat at the bar with him, each staring intently at their poison. Craning his neck to the door, there were another two tables occupied by couples, sharing dinner and joy.
The food came out in eight and by then Pete had already drained his glass. Mimi refilled it, asked how he liked the sandwich and then left him alone to eat. That was what Pete liked the most about her, she knew when to talk to him and when to leave him alone. If only the rest of the world could do the same…
Pete ate slowly, enjoying the grilled chicken and alternating bites of it with crunchy fires and swallows of beer. Whether he ate at home or at the bar, dinner was often spent thinking back over the day. His morning run had been nice, the drive to the city okay and then a long, slow day at work. His only real purposeful act had been helping an older woman up the three steps into the bank's lobby. The day before had been even worse.
What had been different about that day was that he had submitted an application at Wayne Enterprises as a security guard. Working at the bank was tedious and annoying, at least if he worked at WE he'd be paid better and the surroundings would be nicer. The receptionist at human resources had been impressed by his résumé and had practically guaranteed him an interview in the coming month.
It brought a smile to his face, thinking about taking a step forward in his life, taking charge, taking action.
Seemingly a lifetime ago, Pete had left college a year short of a criminal justice degree, he had applied for the state police academy. All his life he had wished to follow in his uncle's footsteps and to become a police officer. He would have been able to make a name for himself and to prove everyone wrong. No one would dare pick on him or disrespect him if he wore a badge and a gun. Unfortunately, the academic advisor had turned him down, encouraging him to wait it out and finish his degree and then reapply in a year.
Pete had been waiting his whole life… if he wasn't good enough then, what would another year have done?
He had spent years afterwards wasting his life in one meaningless job or another. Returning to Gotham City had been the last time he had actively altered his life. For eight long years, he had sat idly by, watching the city grow darker and more disgusting. His mother had always said that Gotham had no soul and that it was where criminals, drug addicts and whores thrived. It was no place for her sweet boy.
Pete had promised her that he would grow up and be a good man, that he would never let one of them hurt him as they had hurt his family.
Thinking of that promise reminded Pete he needed to put flowers on her grave in the morning…
After finding a pen from his coat pocket, he found a spare napkin lying out on the bar and made a check list for the coming days. Since he never took vacations or used any of his sick days, the bank manager had personally encouraged Pete to take the remainder of the week off, making the long holiday weekend even longer. It sounded off for his boss to tell him not to come to work, but it wasn't Pete's place to say…
Oil change and car inspected
Uniforms to the cleaners
Flowers for Mom
Thinking of his late mother once more, Pete bottled back sadness and let anger toil his stomach. He then added to the list: Choose one
Mimi arrived with the bill, "What's that Pete, your laundry list?"
"I have the week off, need to figure out what I'm going to do."
She smiled, "Well, you are welcome here any night, Pete, not just Tuesday." Apparently her mother had never taught her not to pry because Mimi looked over the list and commented, "You are so organized… so mature… If I gave a list like that to my husband and he wouldn't get anything on it done…"
He shrugged and retrieved his wallet, giving her twenty-five dollars "Keep the change."
"Thanks, Pete… hey, what are you choosing, new carpet?"
He smiled and nodded, not wanting to verbally lie to her.
^V^
Residence of Selina Kyle, May 26th, 6:29 p.m.
"Ow."
"Sorry."
I was sprawled over the still made bed, face down as Selina's fingers kneaded into the minor and major rhomboid muscles of my back, relieving the dull aches that had been with me most of the day. Rather than going out, I had only time for dinner at her place after work before heading out for the night. After a light dinner where the conversation had been even lighter, Selina had orderd me to the bedroom.
"Selina… I have to get going."
She had pointed at her bedroom door before glaring at me. When that had no effect, she grabbed my hand, twisted back my thumb and added, "Please."
Surprisingly enough, she wanted nothing more than to work the kinks out of my back, commenting that she had seen how uncomfortable I had been sitting at the table. For twenty, blissful minutes there had been no sound in the room save for her sighing and my growling. She had just begun to work on my lower lumbar muscles when her cell phone rang from the living room.
Selina swore quietly, stepped off of the bed and went after it while ordering, "Don't move."
Knowing disobeying her would only lead in bloodshed, I opted to remain laying face down on the bed, trying to hear her muted conversation. As I craned my head around to look towards the open door, my vision was overwhelmed with a furry, gray figure. Selina had several cats, and as hard as I tried, I couldn't keep them straight.
"Vinnie?" I asked him.
He purred and reclined barely five inches from my face, watching me intently as he intentionally flicked my face with his tail. When I blew air at him he wasn't startled, but rather enticed to paw at my face. To avoid the outstretched claws, I rolled onto my side and instantly sat up. Selina always picked on me that I had no affinity for animals and seemed to instigate trouble whenever I encountered them.
Then again, most animals I encountered were vicious personal protection dogs…
"What did I tell you?" Selina asked as she returned to the bedroom.
I pointed at the cat and declared, "He started it."
She sat next to me on the bed and turned to rest her legs across my lap. When I asked who had called, she replied, "This animal welfare committee I donated to in March… they want me on the board."
"Meow," I commented before leaning in to kiss her cheek.
When I went to move her legs off of me, Selina asked, "Leaving so soon?"
"I'm sorry… I'm not very good company lately. Probably better off being with Vinnie," I nodded to the cat.
"Tony," she corrected me. After a beat, she leaned in and put her lips to my ear, "Well… maybe next time we have dinner you can stay for dessert."
"Maybe," I kissed her cheek before rising to my feet.
It wasn't until I reached the door that I heard her response, "That's what you always say."
I could have ignored it and continued but I chose to not make that mistake. Instead, I turned to look at her, "I'll come back… afterwards. I promise."
Selina rolled her eyes but then smiled as she got up as well. Once she was standing in front of me, she said, "Well, I guess this is the part where I say be careful and you say that you always are, even though you're not."
I nodded, "Sounds about right."
She paused and looked me straight in the eye, "Be careful, Bruce."
"I'm always careful."
She paused, bit her lip and then whispered, "No, you're not."
^V^
Residence of Peter Placido, May 27th, 12:01 a.m.
"Done," Pete said aloud.
With a slight pause, he set his pen down and closed the notebook. It was a five-subject college ruled book; its cover was a slate blue. Within a few short days, it would be filled and he would be able to start a new book, of which was one of secret pleasures. There was something about writing on the first page of a crisp, new notebook that had always seemed so rewarding.
It had started way back when he was in grade school and his therapist told him keeping a journal would help keep his thoughts in check.
For three decades, he had written out his thoughts down in his own hand on countless of notebooks at the conclusion of each day. At last count, he had ten boxes filled with past journals that were stored in the attic. Pete wasn't sure why he had kept them considering he never read them after he finished an entry.
Pete put the notebook in the desk drawer and stood slowly, allowing his tired legs a moment to regain their strength. As he rose, his eyes glanced over the uncluttered desk until they came upon a silver framed picture. It was of his mother, her dark hair pinned back tightly and her too-calm face paled by the flash of the camera. It had been at one of very few parties that had been held in the Placido household, probably a summer barbeque or a birthday party. She was seated at the old red picnic table that his father had built and had allowed his young son to paint. The faint smile on her lips said something had finally made her happy…
She had been gone for twenty-four years to the day.
At the time, he nor his father knew what was wrong with her, only that she had good days and bad days. On good days, she would be bright and cheerful, always baking, cleaning or tending to the garden. She had always encouraged him to join her in such activities when she had a good day. And then, without warning, the bad days would come. She wouldn't get out of bed and would lay there and cry for hours. Nothing would get her to come out of it, not pleading, begging or even threatening. They simply had to wait until her next round of good days arrived…
Or at least Pete had waited.
His father had tried to deal with his wife's affliction but after a while his eye had begun to wander for someone who would be happy all of the time. He went in search for someone who would care for him, comfort him and please him. Pete wasn't sure when, but a time had come when his father was gone all of the time with his new friends, leaving his son home alone, kneeling beside his mother's bed.
Seeing how he was already writing down his thoughts in journals, Pete had been very careful to record her good days and bad days in hopes that he could find a pattern. It was partially accurate and when he tried to show his father how he had kept track of things he had been yelled at. His father had told him that taking notes wasn't going to fix her, that nothing could help his mother.
And then she had died and the records hadn't mattered anymore.
Pete found his legs had grown weak and allowed himself to sit back down in the chair.
He thought on how his mother hadn't just died, that it had been the Whore that killed her. That had driven his mother to the point of no return where her only option had been death. It had been the Whore that lured his father into the trap of a new marriage and had driven him to drink himself to death…
His mother had told him that they were all alike, that all the pretty young things were out there trying to break up families and make people do things they would never do. The day she had died, she had made Pete promise to grow up and be a good man, to never lay with someone like the Whore. The whore and her kind were very clever and alluring, always attracted to good men with good jobs and good lives. She had him swear that he would never become like his father, a drunk skirt chaser that had turned his back on his own family.
Pete was raised to be a good man.
He had never broken a promise in his entire life.
^V^
The Empire Club, May 29th, 12:01 a.m.
Karen laughed as she leaned over to yell in her roommate's ear, "He's still watchign me!"
Becca called back over the live band's music, "What?"
"He's been watching me since I came back from the bar," she shouted as she carefully glanced over towards him.
He was good looking, with check pluses in each of the tall, dark and handsome categories. Not five minutes earlier, Karen had been bumped into by a blatantly drunk girl. Barely keeping on her feet, Karen had accidentally nudged the man sitting alone at the bar and when she had apologized, he had smiled softly, "No… she should be the one apologizing."
Karen had given him a playful laugh and a quick thanks before returning to her table with a new round of cosmos. They had been trying to talk over the music, sipping their overpriced drinks and casually look back to her admirer at the bar. When he caught them looking, he smiled and nodded before faking interest in the band. Without a second thought, Karen finished off her drink and grabbed Becca's hand, leading them to the dance floor, "Come on, let's give Mr. Hot Stuff something else to look at!"
Graduation week was a blitz of clubs, bars and parties, getting one last hoorah in with her classmates before they all parted ways. After eight, long semesters at Hudson U and two internships at design firms in the city, Karen had finished her bachelor's in interior design. She had already landed a job at one of the firm's she interned for, Martine Design, with a great starting salary and benefits which was music to a college grad's ears. They even offered to help cover the cost of any work she put towards acquiring a masters.
For the last four years, she had lived off campus with her best friend Becca, also a design major. Since Becca had double majored in design and business, she still had another year and half before graduation, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to celebrate. They went everywhere together, the gym, shopping, the movies and the clubs. Karen's mother had loved how close they were because it made knowing her daughter living in the big city a little more manageable. Since she was going to stay in the city to work, they could continue living together, playing together and looking out for one another.
The band broke for a short break after three fast paced songs. Karen was starting to feel the night catching up with her as well as the continuous gaze of the man at the bar. She had been single for nearly two months after a mutual breakup. It was graduation week, the last week to be young and alive and Karen was tempted to go out with a bang.
She felt Becca lean against her and speak directly into her ear, "Go talk to him, I'll stay at Cole's place tonight."
"You think?" Karen asked.
"How could you say no to that face?" Becca teased.
After hugging each other goodbye and making promises to text after getting home safe, Karen fluffed her hair and headed to the bar. He was in the same stool as earlier, nursing a draft beer. When she was within two feet of him, he turned suddenly and tapped the bar with his knuckles, grabbing the bartender's attention. Karen took the stool next to him and smiled, "I'm Karen."
He smiled, showing perfect white teeth, "Dave. I hate to sound cliché but can I buy you a drink?"
Laughing, Karen nodded, "Sure. A cosmo, please."
After he ordered her a drink, he pivoted to face her, "Graduating?"
She nodded, "Yep. Interior Design… start my job on Monday."
"Congratulations," he beamed, "No wonder you're celebrating."
Karen's drink arrived and he raised his glass, "To you."
"To me," she grinned before clinking glasses and taking a long sip. Over the rim of her cocktail glass, she looked him over one more now that she was up close. His hair was short and slightly curly, the color of dark chocolate. Up close she noticed a slight scar just beneath his hairline but then her eyes traveled down his tanned brow, strong cheekbones and solid jaw.
He spoke suddenly, "I know it sounds lame, but do you come here often?"
Karen let out a laugh, "No, only for special occasions."
He smiled, "Very special."
She cocked her head and traced the rim of her glass with a finger. She then downed in order to summon the liquid courage to ask, "You want to go for a walk? Get out of here for a bit?"
He suddenly began to fidget on the stool and his eyes danced back and forth between her and the door. She began to wonder if she had come on too strongly, that was until he replied, "I could use some fresh air."
While he paid off his tab, Karen excused herself to the bathroom to freshen up. She had to fight for a mirror in the crowded room in order to touch up her makeup and apply a dash of perfume. Prepped for the remainder of the night, she made her way back into the bar's open room, smiling to see he had been waiting just outside of the bathroom for her.
Once outside, Karen filled her lungs with fresh air before looking to her new acquaintance, "I walked here with my roomie."
"You live close by?"
"No… we took a cab to dinner then walked over. We're on the other side of the park, actually."
He glanced up at the night sky before glancing to the busy street, "Well, we'll never get a cab here, maybe a few blocks up?"
Karen nodded, thankful that she had wore flip flops and not high heels. As they headed down the sidewalk, dodging smokers huddled outside of bars and groups of girls migrating from one club to the next, they started a casual conversation. She told him about her new job and how she had been celebrating all week long. He seemed very intent on learning about her, actually listening to what she said instead of tuning her out like most guys. When she asked what he did for a living, he told her he was a police officer.
"Really?"
He retrieved his badge and showed it to her, "Eight years now.
"Wow, that must be so exciting, in a city like this," she said, hooking her arm with his.
"It has its moments," he smirked.
They passed one of the side entrances to Robinson Park and Karen suggested, "Hey, we can cut a few blocks if we go in here and come out on Brady Ave."
The park was no where to be late at night as it was a haven to drug dealers and muggers.
But Karen felt safe with a cop at her side.
Her own knight in shining armor.
^V^
Robinson Park, May 29th, 10:45 p.m.
He changed his pattern.
He was more violent.
He was gaining confidence.
He had practically left the body out in the open, leaving it for one of the Robinson Park the groundskeepers to find it while collecting brush. Clearing fallen limbs from that week's thunderstorm, the primary witness was quoted noticing "something that looked like a glove… then I looked… and it was a hand."
I stood in between two large pines and watched as the remaining forensic technicians packed up and loaded their trucks. They had spent a majority of the day and evening at the scene, battling mother nature to gather whatever evidence they could. I had arrived a little after nine and had been listening intently to their muted conversations. Nothing obvious had been left behind at the scene, nor had anything been blatantly taken.
At least something had remained the same.
Entering the park had taken a bit of work considering each entrance had been blocked off and patrolmen were scouring the perimeter. I had to scale the ten foot stone wall nearly a quarter of a mile away from the crime scene, using the forage as concealment as I made my way through the park. Following a vacant, unofficial trail, I found sites of worn earth with evidence of small fires and empty beer cans. Passing between two large birches, I saw the words "Gatez of HELL" in green spray paint on each of them. Most likely the work of initiated youths from a lower ranking gang, but the message was still loud and clear. And truer than life itself.
The exact location where the body had been found was staked and taped off, each twig and leaf removed in order to expose every square inch of grass. Fibers and prints were next to impossible to locate outdoors but footprints were always an easy find. They had pulled a few boot prints from the grass and soil, a men's size eleven work boot, but the evidence had quickly been ruled out when the groundskeeper's footwear matched the print.
One tech had said it was impossible for the killer to not leave his mark behind.
I disagreed, knowing full well it was possible to vanish into thin air.
Before I had spent two hours standing in the dark cover of the trees, I had wondered if the killer was beginning to unravel, hurriedly killing his victim in the open and dumping the body with haste. The reality was that he might have been unable to contain the desire, but he was still more than capable of maintaining control.
As the readout on the lens display turned to 11:01, the trio of forensic vans departed as did the four squad cars. I had left Gordon a message asking the entire scene to be clear by eleven and I wasn't surprised that he came through.
I turned on a small flashlight as I stepped out into the open, "Oracle?"
She responded over the comm. link, "I'm here. Coroner's report came through. Tox screen showed alcohol but nothing else. Time of death was confirmed, still between midnight and two in the morning. There was practically no bruising around her throat, but the head trauma caused a subdural hematoma, probably would have died from that alone had he not-."
"Weapon?"
"The same. Smooth edged six-inch blade. Over thirty stab wounds to her torso and arms. Still, that's nearly twice as many as the last one."
"She fought back," I commented as I panned the light over the blooded grass.
"This is true… the girl was a piranha. They found blood in her mouth that was A positive, she was typed as B negative. She didn't have anything under her fingernails but she sank her teeth into him."
"He's always caught them off guard by choking them… he tired to stun her… from the look of the photos he used the butt of the blade… abrasions on her hands and knees…. She fell but she wasn't knocked unconscious..."
Twenty-four hours earlier, Karen Richmond was alive and well, out on the town for the night with her roommate. According to the preliminary report, the outfit she was found in had been a knee length black skirt and a sleeveless, low cut silk blouse. She had one flip flop on and the other had been found two feet away. When I had scanned the crime scene photos earlier that evening, I couldn't help but think that was what Selina wore practically every day…
I continued, talking more to myself than to Barbara, "They found her blood on the sidewalk… trailed to the brush. He didn't start stabbing her until he had her where he wanted her…" Looking back to the streetlight glowing nearly twenty yards away, I added, "He wanted her to be in the dark… shadow blacking out his face… he wanted her to be scared."
"How the hell did he do it and not leave prints?" she asked after a brief pause.
"The same way I would have… Heavy branches down… could have used them to rake over the grass, muse his prints… stepping lightly in the first place would make it easy enough to cover up."
"Real classy guy this one… he must have lured her in, no girl goes into that park alone after dusk," Barbara commented, "I've gone over the security camera footage on all of the entrances and nothing. Although it didn't help that one of them wasn't working."
I peered over my shoulder in the direction of the nearest gate, "State Street's south entrance?"
"Yep. Probably befriended her at the bar, went for a late night stroll to walk it off and he led her right into his trap… he must have known ahead of time that it wasn't working… it couldn't have been luck."
A fault in the system, allowing an innocent to become a victim in the blink of an eye.
I had her run background check's on all of the Robinson Park personnel while I perused the crime scene. While my eyes were getting to work, my mind was in overtime. Police had picked up the roommate, Becca Keller, midday at her boyfriend's apartment. After two hours of staggered questioning and crying sessions, she had divulged that she had last seen Karen at the Empire Club. She had said that Karen had left to go talk to a man at the bar that she had been flirting with off and on over the night. From there, she had spoken to the sketch artist and a very vague, undistinguished Caucasian male suspect was produced.
"Did they find the bartender?" I asked suddenly.
"Yes," she confirmed, "He had gone home with a girl from the bar, slept all day in order to get ready for his shift tonight. He said the victim and her roommate had been pouring back cosmos all night… and he didn't recognize the sketch of the guy at the bar, but then again he was doing the job of two people that night while the other tender was on a break… he wasn't looking at faces, just hands with cash in them."
I told her to keep me posted and to have Robin tour down through Bryanttown since I wasn't going to be able to. She offered to call in Nightwing but I declined.
News coverage, as with the other victims, was limited but filled with warnings of voluntary curfews and precautions. I had skipped a Wayne Foundation luncheon that day in order to lock myself in my office and try and get a head start on things. Just like the rest of Gotham, I was trying to find a needle in a haystack, a faceless boogey man who was lurking in the dark…
The sound of footsteps caused me to shut off my flashlight and take cover behind the nearest tree. Looking towards the approaching individual, I was surprised to see it was none other than Jim Gordon. I stepped out from the shadows, the closest lamp barely revealing me to him.
After pausing equidistant to me and where Karen had taken her last breaths, Jim looked in my direction, "This isn't good."
I didn't comment and waited for him to continue.
"Five weeks until the city's Fourth of July celebration and this sonofabitch is stepping out, testing the waters. I've got the mayor calling me every damn day asking about our progress and hinting that if this guy isn't caught…"
"Four victims. Three or four times that die every night in this city because of the gangs and mobs."
Gordon shook his head, "But the gangs and the mobs… they shoot each other up. They don't fillet young, pretty girls and rape them."
A moment of silent tension filled the air between us.
Anger was plastered over his tired face, anger at himself, at me and at the man who was hiding from us.
His gaze fell to the taped off plot of earth before scanning the dark, silent trees.
I finally spoke, "It was the only entrance with a malfunctioning camera. Damaged by storm."
"The groundskeeper checked out, had an alibi for last night."
"Need to see who else on staff doesn't."
Jim nodded before sighing, "I hate this damned park sometimes. I guess this will put a demand on us to patrol it again at all hours of the night. Like we're not stretched thin already… He had to pick on pretty, young women," a look came over him that suggested he was thinking about his daughter.
For a moment, Selina's face flashed in front of my eyes.
All we had was a vague facial sketch.
And four dead girls.
It wasn't enough.
It was too much.
^V^
