Don't Go Out On Friday Night, 5/? (original) (raw)

Title: Don't Go Out On Friday Night, chapter five
Rating: T/PG-13 (thematic elements and a bit of violence; blood in later chapters)
Word Count: 3,640 (sorry for the shorter chapter! That's how it came out. XD;)
Characters: The Riddler, Batman, Robin, Detective Ellen Yin, Commissioner Gordon, Gorman
Spoilers: Riddler's Revenge
Summary: Robin discovers that Gorman may have an unholy alliance with another enemy. This will only further complicate matters. Meanwhile, the Riddler thinks of possible suspects for the killer's identity.

Cross-posted to ladybug_tales and http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4479074/5/

Notes: Many thanks to Kaze for plot help!

Chapter Five

Within thirty minutes, Yin had examined the strange man's car---finding nothing of value---and had delivered him to the station. (He had awakened along the way and had spent part of the time cursing both her and the Riddler, until the Riddler had threatened to strike him again. That had left the gunman in a state of sullen silence.) Then, after picking up a better car to use, she and the Riddler headed for the scene of the murder. They were both mostly quiet on the way, each involved in their own thoughts.

The area in question was in the corner of the Gotham City park. Police were standing around a bench where yellow crime scene tape had been placed. Batman was also there, his eyes narrowed as he looked on.

Yin hurried over to him, Riddler following close behind. "What happened here?" she demanded.

"The body was found sitting up on the bench," Batman told her. "The piece of newspaper was being held in his hand, probably put there after his death. He was stabbed in the heart."

"And glued onto the paper were newspaper letters that said 'Four more pieces, Riddler,'" Commissioner Gordon added angrily. "How did this happen? This section was being watched!"

"The officer patrolling the park said he'd heard gunshots at the other end," Batman said. "But when he got there, no one was around. Then he came back and found the body."

"So he has at least one accomplice," Gordon said.

"Maybe two," Yin said. "I still don't know about the guy who killed my windshield."

"Which guard was it?" Nygma spoke at last.

Gordon looked to him. "He was IDed as Artie Baldwin," he said.

"I suppose we won't know if the body was moved a great distance until the autopsy." Nygma's voice and facial expression gave no indication of what he was thinking. He seemed unaffected, as usual.

Batman nodded. "But it's probable that it wasn't too far away," he said. "It might have been in another part of the park."

"It's strange if he went to a great deal of trouble to kill that man," said Nygma. "That particular guard was the main one I interacted with the times I was at Arkham."

All eyes looked to him. "Could the killer have known that?" Yin exclaimed.

"I guess that would depend on who he is," Nygma answered.

"What if he was another inmate?" Yin suggested. "Maybe he stopped killing three years ago because he was incarcerated in Arkham."

"An enemy of mine from there, perhaps?" Riddler mused. "There was more than one inmate who strongly disliked me."

"Do you remember who they were?" Yin asked.

Riddler shrugged. "One of them was . . . Barry, I believe," he said. "A tall, muscular blond. If I recall correctly, he was angry at me because I was more notorious than he." He placed his hand on his chin, looking thoughtful. "Then there was Jonas, who I think was part of a mob family."

Yin looked at him in disbelief. "What did he have against you?!" she exclaimed.

A smirk spread over the Riddler's features. "I once stole some information that Jonas' family wanted."

Yin frowned, folding her arms. Did this man have no shame?

"Was there anyone else?" Batman asked, clearly unimpressed.

"Hmm. . . . I remember Hank and Joe," Riddler said. "They didn't like me because I existed."

"Do you have last names for any of these people?" Batman wanted to know.

"I barely remember their first names," Riddler said. "They were nothing to me."

Yin looked him up and down, unable to help wondering if any of those people had ever tried to pick a fight with him. The first one that had been mentioned, at least, sounded as though he would be capable of breaking this slender man in half.

"Obviously, you weren't nothing to them," Batman said. "Would any of them have the skills needed to pull off these murders?"

Riddler shrugged. "Hank was terrible at chess, I remember that much," he said. "He was unable to grasp the rules. He couldn't even play checkers very well. Barry was more interested in weights than intellect. And Jonas believed a gun solved any problem."

"What about Joe?" Yin asked, wondering how on earth someone could fail at playing checkers.

The man paused, staring off into the distance. "He might be a possibility," he said. "I remember he played backgammon at Arkham, so maybe he liked chess too."

He looked to Batman. "Where's your sidekick?" he inquired.

"Robin was following someone else we thought might be the target," Batman said. "I contacted him and told him the murder had been committed elsewhere, so he should be coming back soon."

Yin blinked in surprise. "Who was he following?" she wondered.

Batman deliberately looked to the Riddler as he replied. "Charles Gorman."

The green eyes widened. "Gorman?!" the Riddler said in disbelief. "Why would he be a target?"

"He was in one of the other suspect areas," Batman said. "Robin saw him pull up to the dock in a motorboat."

Riddler frowned. Gorman was still not one of his favorite people; despite knowing that the businessman had not sabotaged his project, Riddler did not like Gorman because of his generally unfavorable personality. The feeling was likely mutual; Edward had always known that Gorman had not liked him---he had only liked the prospect of the money that could be made from a business deal between them. Any friendliness he had ever exhibited had been fake. And that had been an instant turn-off to a man who rarely showed such feelings at all. The few times Edward Nygma ever displayed a friendly or---Heaven forbid---a kind air, it was because he meant it. He was not the type to apply such a facade in order to manipulate people.

"Well," he said, "I can't say I understand the connection between Gorman and Artie Baldwin---or Gorman and any of the other victims."

"They've both known you," Batman said.

The frown deepened. "Yes, but that doesn't explain most of the others," Riddler said. "Aside from my uncle, they're all strangers to me."

Yin sighed. "There's probably not much more we can do here," she said. "I'm going to go back to the station and see if I can get anywhere in questioning the shooter."

"There isn't any chance that he was the one firing gunshots in the park, is there?" Commissioner Gordon said without hope.

"I doubt it, sir," Yin said. "The car was going around Garcia Heights at the time the murder was probably being committed."

"The police have looked for shell casings, but they haven't found any," Batman said. "They were likely picked up by the shooter so they wouldn't be discovered."

He looked to the Riddler, who was beginning to wander off ahead. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm just going to take a little look around the park and the surrounding area," the other responded. "You're welcome to join me if you want, Batman." This was said half-sardonically, as he was certain that someone was going to come with him.

"I've already looked over the area," Batman told him. "I didn't find anything."

"It won't hurt for someone else to check as well," Riddler said in a smooth tone.

Batman narrowed his eyes in annoyance. But when the Riddler resumed his journey, the Dark Knight followed.

****

Robin, meanwhile, was tired and frustrated as he shadowed Gorman. He had wanted to leave after receiving the communiqué from Batman about the murder, but something had told him that he needed to keep following Gorman a while longer. So far, all the man had done was travel up the docks and to the warehouses nearby. At least he had not realized someone was behind him. Robin had done his best to keep quiet.

Now they were coming to a phone booth. Gorman stopped, looking down at his watch. Seeing that all seemed to be in order, he relaxed.

Robin nearly started out of his boots when the phone actually rang. But Gorman was apparently expecting it. He quickened his pace, stepping over to the booth and lifting the receiver. Robin sneaked closer, hiding behind a large crate that had been left in back of the booth.

"Of course I'm on time," he said impatiently into the telephone. "I see my lawyers did their job."

That was a weird comment. It almost sounded like he meant that he had had his lawyers do something for the person on the phone. But what?

"I'm still not pleased that you let Eddie think I was the one who ruined his life. It's been very costly to me. Do you know how much I had to spend just to get my house back to normal?" A pause. "The only reason I decided to help you was because of what you can do for me. I haven't forgotten your proposal. Get me a prototype of this invention of yours within a week and then we'll talk further. I'll have my driver take you to one of my company-owned laboratories."

Who was he talking to? And what was he talking about? Eddie . . . did he mean the Riddler? But who would have known that Gorman was not responsible for sabotaging the project? Robin's eyes widened.

"Yeah, everything's been fine here. I just ran into some fool kid when I was pulling up on shore. One of Batman's cronies, I think. I must have been crazy to keep my main offices here in Gotham. The place has been crawling with freaks for the last few years!" Another pause. "Domino City? I heard it's even worse as far as freaks go. I'd rather take my chances here."

It took a lot for Robin to keep his mouth shut. No wonder the Riddler loathed this guy. And if only he could hear the other side of the conversation! If it was who he thought it might be, he would recognize the voice.

"Alright. If you've got any more questions, call me at this number." With that he proceeded to recite a telephone number, which Robin proceeded to memorize.

". . . What? No, Eddie won't find out. How can he? He's locked up in Arkham. . . . You heard what?! From who?"

Robin stiffened. Did anyone else know the Riddler had been set free? Since the killer himself knew, there was no telling who else could have learned the truth. Maybe even some of the police had talked too much. A lot of them were not thrilled about the angle of using the Riddler to assist in the case.

"Well, well. I pity the police department. . . . It's hard to say what that nut would do. . . . Yeah, it's possible that he'd attack, if he found out."

Was the Riddler the "nut" Gorman meant? Or could he even mean the killer?

"Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't find out! I don't need him messing this up. . . . I know how you feel about him. You don't want him around, either. . . . He'll probably be too busy trying to catch that killer to pay any attention to us. . . . Yes. Goodbye."

With that the telephone was placed back in its cradle. Gorman stepped away from the booth, intending to continue his journey. Robin began to raise up, determined to follow. But as luck would have it, his cape caught on a jagged piece of wood hanging loose on another crate. As he tried to straighten up, the wood snapped back.

Both Gorman and Robin froze at the sound, which seemed monstrous in the otherwise still night air. Gorman whirled around, fear manifest on his face. "Who's there?" he demanded. "I . . . I've got a gun." He stuck a hand inside his coat, but Robin had the feeling it was a bluff. Gorman was not the type of businessman who carried a gun---though maybe he needed to be, what with all the trouble he got into.

And now the Boy Wonder had a dilemma. Should he reveal his identity and confront Gorman or not? Even if he came out and said he had heard everything, Gorman was not likely to explain any of the cryptic discussion. Maybe it would even make things worse. Maybe what he needed to do now was to go and tell Batman everything. Batman might want to observe Gorman for a while to see what he was doing.

A smirk crossed Gorman's features when he still received no reply. "Must've been a cat," he muttered. With that he resumed his walk down the wharf. Soon there came the sounds of him getting into a car and driving away.

Slowly Robin rose, watching the automobile until it vanished in the distance. Then he turned his attention to his comlink. "Batman!" he called. "Did you find anything out about the murder?"

"Some," Batman answered. "I was expecting you to be back before now. What happened?"

"A lot," Robin said. "Gorman got a really weird phone call at a booth. I'll tell you all about it when I come. Oh, and it'd probably be better if I talked to you about it alone."

****

By that time, Batman and the Riddler had concluded their inspection of the area, which had still proved fruitless. The Riddler had decided to return to the piano store to continue studying the grid and the information about the victims. The police had already been talking to all the family members and friends of the victims that they could, in hopes of finding the connection between them, but to no avail. And without knowing that, there would be even less of a chance of preventing the next murder.

After escorting the Riddler back to the store, Batman had returned to the Batcave to wait for Robin. And once Robin had come, they spent a long while discussing what Gorman could have been up to---and who he could have been talking with.

"Doesn't it seem like the only logical possibility is the Riddler's old girlfriend?" Dick said. By now they were in the den, waiting while Alfred fixed a late dinner. Dick was leaning forward in his chair, seeming excited by his deduction.

"It seems like it," Bruce agreed, frowning at the thought. "So the idea is that Gorman got his lawyers to help her get out of jail because she's helping him with something?"

"It sounded like she was making something for him," Dick said. "He was talking about her getting an invention prototype finished in a week. And he didn't want 'Eddie' to find out. The person he was talking to didn't want that to happen, either."

Bruce gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "He wouldn't like it at all if Gorman and Julie had some kind of a partnership," he said. "But I wonder if there's more to it."

"You mean like them exploiting something else of his?" Dick asked.

"Yes. Riddler only told me about his external hard drive project, but that doesn't mean it was the only idea he came up with at the university," Bruce said. "If there was something else, and he had told Julie about it, she might think it had potential and decide to work on it herself."

"And then maybe Gorman found out and got interested!" Dick said.

"I'll have to ask the Riddler about it and see if he'll tell me anything," Bruce determined.

"Might I suggest, Master Bruce, that it keep until morning?" Alfred said as he came into the room. "Dinner's ready, and if you'll pardon me for saying so, it's nearly midnight. Young Dick is going to have quite a time waking up in the morning for school."

"We could say I'm sick?" Dick said hopefully.

Bruce shook his head as he stood. "No, Alfred's right," he said. "You were out a lot later than you should have been." He sighed. "I'll talk to the Riddler later."

Alfred looked relieved. "Very good, Master Bruce," he said. "I must admit, with all these late meals I'm afraid both of you will get dreadful indigestion."

Bruce smirked. "We'll manage."

"Yeah," Dick said, unable to resist the urge to tease Alfred a bit, "we're used to it."

Alfred gave him a look. "I can't say I'd be surprised," he said.

****

A loud ding echoed throughout the room.

The Riddler started awake, nearly flying out of his chair and onto the floor.

Muttering to himself, he began to straighten up, running a hand through his jet-black hair to get it out of his face. At some point during the night, he had fallen asleep slumped over the console. The computer had automatically placed itself on standby after an hour or so, but now it was morning and the programmed alarm had kicked in, reviving the owner and creator of the device.

He looked to the computer screen. The desktop had fully loaded, displaying what he had been working on before the machine had gone on standby. The grid loomed before him, the most recently filled square blinking.

The person killed last night had been a third pawn. Now there was one more pawn, a rook, and the queen and the king. Four more pieces. . . .

Was it possible that Gorman really would become a target? That would be so typical of him, to get into that kind of trouble. And though the Riddler despised him, he supposed that he would have to try to prevent that murder from happening, too.

Maybe once again they would fail.

But this could not look good on the police records---twelve dead with four more to follow. There had to be a lot of pressure on Commissioner Gordon and Chief Rojas due to their inability to find this madman. For the Riddler, the stakes were not as serious. His reputation in the real world had long ago been shot. Edward Nygma was guilty of quite a few offenses---though some of them he had already paid for. If he remained on the straight and narrow, he should be allowed to keep his current pardon whether or not the killer was caught. He was doing his best.

What did he have to lose?

Well . . . he hated losing at any kind of game. That was one thing he already knew. He abhorred the way the Chessmaster was mocking him, laughing at his own triumphs and being delighted that not even the Riddler could find him.

But was this just a matter of pride?

There was always the revenge angle, too. He still wanted it, even though his uncle---or a memory of his uncle---had counseled him against it. He could not let go of three years' worth of anger and hatred that fast.

He studied the screen as he continued to think. The square for the last remaining pawn was in the business district. As a matter of fact . . . it looked like it was right where Gorman's company happened to be.

. . . Drat it all.

He leaned back, contemplating this turn. Well, if he showed up in person to tell Gorman he was in danger, the man would never believe it. And for that matter, the Riddler would have a hard time believing that he had actually done it.

His green-eyed gaze turned to the telephone. It was an untraceable number; perhaps he could call Gorman on the phone and disguise his voice by toning down his accent. And having warned the man, maybe he could feel as though he had done his good deed for the day.

Hesitating for another moment, he finally lifted the receiver and tapped out the number. He had memorized Gorman's telephone numbers long ago, during the time when he had still thought the businessman had sabotaged him. After all, he had not known when he might need those numbers to let Gorman know that he was not off the hook.

And now he was calling to warn the man of a possible threat on his life.

Maybe Hell would freeze over this year.

There was a click as the phone was picked up. "Hello?" Gorman sounded extremely rushed. Well, Edward would make this quick.

"Your life is in danger," he said, without returning the greeting.

"What?!" Gorman snapped in disbelief. The sound of his car's engine could be heard in the background.

Edward resisted the urge to make a sarcastic retort. "Don't ask me how I know," he continued, "but you are a probable target of the serial killer roaming the city."

A pause. "Eddie, is this you?" Gorman demanded.

Edward was about to hang up in reply when the explosion ripped through the phone. He jerked it away from his ear, his heart gathering speed. Then there was silence. Slowly he brought the receiver back to him.

"Hello?!" he called, again reverting to his natural voice. But the connection had been broken. Not stopping to think, he tapped out the number again.

A matter-of-fact recording interrupted. "The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service," the annoying woman intoned. He slammed down the receiver, slumping back into the chair as he massaged his forehead.

So now, not only had the Friday Night killer stopped killing on Fridays, but he had stopped killing at night, as well.

He was becoming completely unpredictable.