WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.

Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, James Ewing, Carmella, Sammy, Kirk, Brad (hehehe I've always said I own those two) and Sissy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.

TIMELINE: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! I hope everyone is having fun and getting to play with fireworks.

Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!

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Thomas glanced down at the photograph in her hand one more time. There was no doubt. It was the same place. The Iceberg Lounge.

Now, Thomas wasn't the kind of person to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she had the sneaking suspicion that someone with a mask had somehow been involved with sending this little piece of luck her way.

When she had returned to her hotel room that afternoon, under the door had been a simple manila envelope with a golden insignia on it, of an iconic human face. She had recognized it immediately. The Oracle. He had been on the FBI's most wanted list for years as history's most notorious hacker.

But the surprises didn't end there. Inside the envelope was a photograph of a man leaving a flashy nightclub, the same flashy nightclub she was now standing in front of.

All it took was a quick flash of her identification, and the mention of three letters, and she was in.

It really was amazing. Obviously everyone in this town was about theatricality. She had heard stories about the place, and even read magazine articles, but seeing it in person was awe-inspiring.

The upscale restaurant/night club was bright and sparkling, like every other fancy place Thomas had seen except for one thing. In the middle of the enormous room was a monstrous iceberg. It reminded her of the Dine with Shamu at Sea World, only no whale. The tables surrounded the area, each next to a glass window into the aquarium, so the patrons could watch the seals and penguins swimming past.

It was barely after three in the afternoon and already the place was packed. Thomas felt undeniably like a child finally allowed to go to the grown up dinner table. But the feeling vanished as a young woman wearing an incredibly short dress that showed off her well toned legs, approached Thomas. Down to business.

"He'll see you," she said simply, and turned on her heel, not even looking back to see if the Agent was following.

The small room Thomas was led into was a perfect juxtaposition to the club. Where as the endless ceilings and the spacious dance floors were in the main room, this office had low ceilings with large furniture, giving the room almost a cozy feel.

Thomas couldn't help but smile as the owner of the club hobbled in. She knew why he preferred the smaller surroundings. He wanted to feel bigger.

Even though he stood just over five feet, he did well to look Thomas in the eye without looking up to her, too much. But the smile, that was so obviously forced, never once reached his demeanor.

"Mr. Cobblepot," Thomas acknowledged as he settled down behind an oak desk.

"My reputation precedes me." He gestured to a chair across from him, and she obliged, taking the seat. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of who is obviously the FBI's most stunning Agent?"

His flattery amused her. "Agent Thomas," she answered without him posing the question. "And I'm here to ask you a few questions."

"Anything to aide the Federal Bureau of Investigation," he said drawing out every syllable. Thomas knew he really didn't mean his words, and the Penguin knew that she knew.

But non-the-less, Thomas pulled out the photograph, sans envelope, and tossed it on the desk directly in front of him.

She could see the strain in his features as he looked down at the picture.

"Do you know who that is?" she asked, referring to the man in the photo.

"Of course I know who it is," he snapped. His smile finally wavered and he settled for a slight scowl. There was no way he would be able to charm his way out of this. "It's Harvey Dent."

"Okay," Thomas said quietly. "So you and I both know he was here, so we don't even have to argue about that. But I also know he's not here now." Thomas slid to the edge of her seat, and leaned gracefully on the desk. "I'm not even going to ask if you had anything to do with his escape, because personally, I don't want to know. So I only have one question. Where is he?"

The Penguin squinted, contemplating his next words. "I am not his keeper."

"Are you sure he didn't tell you anything?" This wasn't working.

"You're wasting your time." And the Penguin crossed his arms over his plum middle, and raised his eyebrows as if a challenge.

Thomas sighed; she really didn't want it to come to this. "Look. I've had a really bad day, and all I want to do is go to bed. You tell me what I need to know, I'm one step closer to going home. If you don't tell me what I need to know, then I'll go back and get my partner from the hotel, we'll have to call for back up, and do a thorough search of the premises. And if we were to find something … incriminating, we'll lets just say it wouldn't be very good for business."

"I honestly don't know where Harvey went. I even asked him, and all he said was that he had someone to visit."

Thomas sighed and pulled her cell phone out. "Yes, may I please speak to Agent Hicks in room 1737?"

"All right!" The Penguin exclaimed over exasperatedly. Thomas hung up her phone. "If you were to ask my uneducated guess, I would suggest you look for that lady cop. I believe Montoya is her name."