Don't Go Out On Friday Night, 7/? (original) (raw)

Title: Don't Go Out On Friday Night, chapter seven
Rating: T/PG-13 (thematic elements and a bit of violence and blood)
Word Count: 4,156
Characters: The Riddler, Batman, Detective Ellen Yin, Gorman, Julie
Spoilers: Riddler's Revenge
Summary: The search for shady doctors commences. And Yin returns to look for Hank. Nothing goes as planned.

Cross-posted to ladybug_tales and http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4479074/7/

Notes: The search for shady doctors was inspired by a scene in the Diagnosis Murder book The Waking Nightmare.

Chapter Seven

Gorman was in the lobby when they reached the building. He did not seem a great deal surprised to see them coming, but he was also not at all pleased.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" he grumped.

"This time you really can't say that the police didn't do anything for you," Nygma replied. "You could be a little more courteous." Not that he expected it would happen; Batman had saved Gorman's life twice and that had not changed his opinion that Batman was just another freak.

Yin stepped forward. "After everything that's happened today, we need to know---did you hire this woman to invent something for you?" She did not mention that Julie had said it was a security system. She still wondered if that was a lie. It did not make sense to her that they would not want the Riddler to know solely because he would not like Julie and Gorman working together.

Gorman glowered. "If it's such a burning question, and answering it will get you out of here that much faster, then yes."

"What was it?" Batman demanded, giving Julie a look when she moved to speak. She frowned, looking to Gorman.

"Just something for me personally," the man said. "Something I need around the house."

Seeing that he was not going to get more specific, Yin decided there was no choice. "She said it's a security system," she said.

Obvious surprise registered on Gorman's face. Though he tried to replace it with a deadpan look, the damage was already done. He had looked as though he had never heard anything about a security system.

"That's right," he said. "It is. Julie came up with the plans herself."

"Can we see them?" Yin asked.

"You don't have a search warrant, do you?" Gorman retorted. "We're under no obligation to show you anything. And showing the plans would defeat the whole purpose. It's supposed to keep people out."

"Or me out?" the Riddler spoke. "Gormey, you should know by now that if I want to get somewhere, I will." He leaned forward on his staff. "I don't trust you or what you're saying. I don't think this is about a security system at all. I still think you're exploiting something else of mine, and I will continue to think so until I have definitive proof that you aren't."

Gorman glowered. "And until your police friends can bring a search warrant, I don't have to show you anything," he said. "You'll just have to take our word for it, whether you like it or not."

Batman narrowed his eyes. Unfortunately, that was true. If Gorman was not going to cooperate, it would just be a waste of time to stay here. There were more productive angles they could follow elsewhere, such as finding the shady doctors in town. If the two mysteries connected, they would find it out at some point.

"Julie also said you know someone is trying to kill you," Yin said, "and that's the reason why you want the security system."

"There's always corporate disputes," Gorman shrugged.

"You think this involves a business rival of yours?" Batman asked.

"Probably," Gorman said.

"You were nearly killed twice today," Yin said. "How can you be so nonchalant about it?"

"It wouldn't do any good to be otherwise, would it?" he responded.

"That's certainly not the attitude you take about the 'freaks' milling around Gotham," Nygma said.

Julie crossed her arms. "Edward, please just go," she said, sounding and looking tired.

Batman was already turning to the door. "There's nothing more we can find out here," he said.

Yin nodded. "Let's go, Riddler," she said.

Riddler remained where he was, glaring at Gorman and Julie. "Very well," he said, "but if I find out you have taken one of my ideas again, I promise you will regret it." With that he turned, following Batman and Yin out the door.

Outside, Yin was feeling frustrated. "Well, we sure haven't gotten much of anywhere tonight," she said. "And I don't really believe Gorman's and Julie's story about the security system myself. It just sounds fishy."

Batman nodded. "But right now, there's nothing we can do," he said. "We have to focus on the bigger picture."

"Clinics are closed by now," the Riddler said. "You won't be able to visit any until morning."

"But we can at least make a list of places to try," Yin said. "Do you know of any doctors that the underworld population likes to visit?"

The Riddler shrugged. "I don't really associate with common criminals," he said, "and in my line of work there aren't that many physical injuries."

"Maybe not to yourself, but what about your lackeys?" Yin said. "You can't tell me they don't get hurt sometimes."

"Well, yes," he admitted. "I don't accompany them to the doctor's office, however. I don't recall there ever being serious or life-threatening injuries."

"Do you at least recall a name?" Batman asked.

The Riddler paused, gazing up thoughtfully at the sky. "Let me see . . . I want to say the doctor's name was Ebsen," he said.

"Fine. I'll look for him and see if there's any others on record," Yin said. She looked to the Batman. "What are you going to do?"

"Patrol the city to make sure no one else is in danger," Batman said. "We're still just assuming Gorman is the serial killer's target."

"I don't think we need to assume any longer." The Riddler pointed to a nearby tree. A Batarang---probably the one that had been stuck in the shooter's gun---was now embedded in the bark. A piece of Friday's newspaper was trapped between it and the weapon.

****

The rest of the night was spent in the pursuit of information on shady doctors. Once the clinics were open the next morning, Yin and other police began to make the rounds, questioning the physicians and not being able to learn a great deal. Batman, wondering if the gunman would have expected this move, was looking in a couple of nearby towns instead. If there was more than one person involved, someone could have driven the wounded man to a doctor's office.

The place he was checking now was in a brick home that had been converted into a clinic. From the outside it looked nice enough, at least, and not completely rotting away. As he approached the porch, a wooden sign suspended from the overhanging roof blew back and forth in the breeze. Jack Buckman, M.D. had been engraved into the wood. Batman ignored the sign, after having paused a moment to read the name. Trying the doorknob proved that it was unlocked, and he stepped inside.

A blasé receptionist was seated at a desk in what had been the living room. "If you're here as a walk-in, you'll need to take a seat," she said without looking up. "If you've got an appointment, the doctor will be with you shortly."

"I don't have an appointment." Batman's voice was stern and serious. "Is the doctor with a patient right now?"

"No, but he's . . ." The receptionist finally looked up as Batman proceeded past her into the corridor. "Hey!" she exclaimed, less shocked by his appearance than she was his actions. "You can't go back there!"

But Batman ignored her. Instead he peered into each examination room, finding them all empty. As he arrived at the final stretch, a short, plump man emerged from an office at the end. His white coat was spotted with blood, his stethoscope hanging awry around his neck. He stared at Batman, his mouth dropping open in shock.

"Hey," he started to say, "what's . . ."

But Batman interrupted. "Did you treat a man with a bullet in his arm?" he demanded.

The doctor swallowed hard. "I don't have to tell you anything!" he protested. "Doctor-patient privacy and all that!"

Batman grabbed the man, shoving him against the wall and raising him a bit into the air. "This man tried to kill someone last night," he said. "He could be the serial killer or someone working for him. Do you want to go to prison as an accessory to these crimes?"

"N-no!" the man gasped. He reached up with shaking hands, struggling to pry himself away from the Batman. "But I . . ."

"If you don't tell me, you'll be telling the police," Batman said. "What's it going to be?"

Beads of perspiration were beginning to appear on the doctor's face. "I . . ." He glanced down at his blood-stained coat.

Batman glanced at it too. "Is that his blood?" he wanted to know.

"I didn't treat any man," the doctor replied obnoxiously.

Batman's eyes narrowed. "Then it was a woman," he deduced.

At last the physician looked defeated. "She went out the back way," he said, "about thirty minutes ago."

"And you didn't change your coat?" Batman retorted.

". . . Okay, five, ten minutes ago," the man said.

"Did she come with anyone?" Batman asked.

"If she did, only she came in," the doctor said. "Now will you please just put me down?"

"One more question. What did she look like?"

The physician swallowed, his heart still hammering in his ears from the experience of being cornered by a giant bat. "Long red hair," he said. "She was maybe about five feet. She was wearing a blue shirt and jeans."

"Did she give you a name?"

"Hey, you just said one more question," the doctor whined. But Batman's cold look prompted him to cooperate. "No, she didn't," he said. "Most of 'em don't, and I don't ask. Patient's privacy, you know."

Batman released him, letting him fall to his knees in a sorry heap. Then he brushed past to the back door, which he could see through the open door of the room just ahead of him. Throwing it open, he stepped out onto a rickety wooden stair. Apparently they did not take as great an interest in making the rear of the building presentable as they did the front.

He was looking out at an empty backyard that mostly consisted of gravel. As he stepped down and moved forward, he discovered a small piece of blue cloth caught between two pebbles. He reached down, picking it up in a gloved hand. It was a light color, more of a blue mixed with lavender than outright blue. Had it been torn from the woman's shirt? He slipped it into a small, clear bag. He would go back inside and show it to the doctor, after he finished inspecting the area.

It was clear that the shooter had come in a car; tire tracks were clearly visible amid the gravel. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the grooves, so they would not be a good clue. He walked on, examining every inch of the desolate area. There was nothing else out of place, so he turned and went back up the steps.

The doctor was coming out of his office with a fresh coat when Batman walked inside again. His eyes widened in horrified alarm. "I don't know anything else!" he cried.

Ignoring the outburst, Batman held up the bag with the piece of cloth. "Is this from the shirt the woman was wearing?" he asked.

The man leaned forward for a better look. "Yeah, I think so," he said.

Batman gave a curt nod. "What examination room was she in?"

"You're not done yet?" the physician moaned.

Batman looked at him in stony silence.

"Number three," the doctor groaned in resignation.

With that Batman turned to the left, entering the room in question. But there was nothing to be found. After a thorough inspection of the room, he departed. He would examine the scrap of cloth back at the Batcave and then tell the commissioner of his findings.

****

The person Yin had spoken to the previous day had told her that when Hank was home, it was usually in the early evening. So around five, she left to return to his apartment---with the Riddler in tow. He had wanted to come along, and she had decided maybe it would be a good idea. Just in case Hank did not want to speak to the police and decided to have someone else pose as him, the Riddler would hopefully be able to identify the hoax.

"Hopefully?" she frowned, glancing at him as she drove them to the bad part of town.

He shrugged. "Supposing the man is a good actor and make-up artist, I might not see through it," he said. "I never knew Hank very well."

"Shouldn't you be able to figure it out with your 'brilliant mind'?" she answered, half-sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm sure I can," he smirked. "I'm just warning you in case."

"Or maybe you're just wanting to let me know how unimportant the other inmates are to you," she said. "I know---you didn't like associating with the other criminals. Or anyone else, either. Have you been antisocial because you don't think anyone can match up to your intellectual skills?"

"It's just not much fun to talk to people if they don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," he said. "Surely you can understand that, Detective."

"I guess." She turned to the right. The buildings were getting more dilapidated now. One was completely destroyed, the result of a fire. The roof had caved in; the windows had been shattered and the door was standing open.

"I hope this wasn't Hank's building," the Riddler commented.

Yin frowned at it. "No, it isn't," she said. "It's further along."

"Hopefully this one was an accident," Riddler said.

"When you say it like that, I have a hard time believing you care at all," Yin said, slowing down to allow a group of children to hurry across the street after a ball.

The Riddler was silent for a moment. "Even if I cared, Yinsey, how would it help anything to show it?" he said.

"It might make people think more highly of you," Yin said.

"If they like me, they do, and if they don't, they don't," Riddler answered.

Yin sighed. Trying to talk to him was getting them nowhere.

The rest of the ride was silent. When Yin finally pulled up in front of the correct apartment building, it was almost dark. The street lamps were coming on, as well as the light in the lobby of the building. Opening the door, Yin eased herself out, looking around to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows. The Riddler followed, taking up his staff from the backseat on the way.

The hallways were vacant as they went inside. The lighting was dim, and loud music could be heard from one of the rooms on the ground floor. Yin ignored it, climbing the metal stairs to the second floor and then the third. When she reached Hank's door, she stopped and gave a sharp knock.

"The doorbell's out of order," she told the Riddler.

"I'm surprised everything isn't out of order in a place like this," he replied.

After a moment the sound of footsteps came from inside. A chain was removed from the door as it cracked open an inch. A pock-marked face peered out at the odd twosome standing in the hall. A pretty lady holding up a badge, and a guy in dark green pants with a matching sleeveless shirt and a brass staff . . . yeah, not something you saw every day.

"Are you Hank?" the woman asked.

He nodded, still staring at them both in suspicion.

"I'm Detective Ellen Yin, Gotham P.D. I just need to ask you a few questions. Is it alright if we come in?"

He nodded again, holding the door open further and stepping aside to allow them entry.

"That thing isn't gonna go off, is it?" he asked, looking to the sharp cane.

"Not unless it should," the odd guy answered as he walked past.

Once they were both inside, Hank shut the door. They were standing in a small living room that was not much brighter than the hallway. A stained and threadbare brown carpet graced the floor, along with a television set that had probably been around since the invention of TV. A rickety wooden coffee table stood in between it and a sofa with stuffing emerging from every conceivable opening (and some not so conceivable).

"You can sit down if you want," Hank said, gesturing to the latter.

"Thanks. I think we'll stand," Yin said. The Riddler nodded his agreement.

Hank shrugged. "Well . . . what can I help you with?" he asked. "I can't stay long; I've got to get to my second job. I'm a janitor." And he looked like he would feel perfectly at home in a pair of coveralls, with a fancy broom at his side. He did not look imposing in the least.

Yin nodded. "We won't keep you," she said, her mind working to come up with a good cover story for their arrival. "The police are still trying to find what happened to your friend Joseph Bentley. I was hoping he might have contacted you."

The homely man blinked. "No, I haven't heard from Joe at all," he said. He glanced back to the Riddler, looking him up and down in confusion.

"Oh, you don't remember me?" the dark-haired man purred. "Maybe if I had my mask it would help. And that jumpsuit." He had not been wearing the traditional clothing of his criminal alter-ego, mostly as a way of trying to show the police that he was cooperating with them. But he still insisted on wearing green, and Commissioner Gordon had wearily allowed him to keep his cane after the display of the security codes within it.

Hank shifted. ". . . Eddie?" he said at last.

"That's right---Eddie, the frequent target of your disgust at Arkham---or was it jealousy?" The Riddler smirked, leaning on his staff.

Hank glowered, for the first time not just looking like a mild-mannered janitor with wild sandy hair.

"Now," the Riddler continued, "I don't imagine Joe could have contacted you at all, since you are Joe."

Hank's mouth dropped open. Yin turned to stare, her expression demanding an explanation.

"Didn't you think I'd notice?" Nygma smiled. "Of course you fixed yourself up to look like Hank, but you just don't make the cut. Hank is taller than you, and his hair doesn't get darker at the roots. It's a bad dye-job."

Yin frowned, looking back to "Hank." "What do you have to say to that?" she asked.

The man was glaring again. "Okay, so I'm not Hank," he admitted. "Hank's the one who disappeared, and I didn't want him to get into trouble. So I made it look like I'd vamoosed and figured I'd just masquerade as him for a while. I thought I'd find him sooner or later, or else he'd come out of hiding."

"That's very interesting," Nygma mused, "only I remember that you and Hank hated each other almost as much as you both hated me. You wouldn't do him any favors. Not unless he'd talked to you about it first and was going to pay you for it."

"Or unless someone else was going to pay you?" Yin suggested.

"Who else would pay me?" Joe said defensively.

"That's what I'd like to know," Yin said. "I'm going to need you to come to the station for questioning."

Joe's face twisted in anger. Without warning he shoved Yin to the side as he ran for the door. The Riddler swung his staff at the fugitive, but only managed to take out a chunk of the thin door as the sharp crook scraped across it. Splinters of wood flew in every direction, distracting Yin and the Riddler as Joe fled down the stairs. They dodged the fragments, giving chase as the metal stairs rang with their footsteps.

"Stop!" Yin called when the man was in sight again. Joe only ran faster, landing on the ground floor and turning to run towards the back exit. As Yin and the Riddler continued their pursuit, startled residents peered out through their doors and peepholes.

"Whatever is all the commotion?" an elderly woman exclaimed in alarm.

"Police business," Yin managed to call over her shoulder. "Stay inside your apartments!" There was no telling whether Joe would open fire or not. It would be foolish to take chances.

Joe burst outside moments later into a darkened alley, the Riddler right on his heels. As Yin followed, their footsteps were fading away towards the left. She moved to continue the chase.

And a figure clad in a black catsuit leaped at her out of the night, a knife clutched in a gloved hand.

Brown eyes widened in surprise. Yin dodged to the side as the person lunged. The blade sliced the air before the attacker recovered and came at Yin again. She grabbed the wrist, struggling to twist it away from her. The malicious figure lashed out, kicking her legs out from under her. With a cry she fell backwards, hitting the rough ground.

The person came at her again, the knife poised to stab into her chest. She kicked up, hitting the stranger squarely in the mid-section. The person fell back with a distinctly masculine grunt, momentarily dazed.

Yin took the opportunity to leap to her feet, moving forward with her gun in her hands. In response the man threw the knife at her and turned to flee, melting into the shadows. As she leaped out of the way, her shirt sleeve ripped, the blade cutting into her arm before embedding itself into the wall behind her. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain as she righted herself and ran in the direction her attacker had taken. But it was no use---the man had vanished.

An exasperated sigh left her lips as she stood under a street lamp just to the side of the apartment complex. Now there was nothing left to do except to see if she could find where the Riddler and Joe had gone. Maybe she should go and get the car first.

Shock flashed through her eyes as she hurried to the front of the building. The car was open, and the black-suited figure was leaning inside. Was he doing something to damage the steering wheel?

"Hey!" Yin called, her voice sharp.

The man started, hurriedly pulling himself out of the car. As he turned to flee, he was met by the swing of a brass staff. It connected with his forehead and he went down, hitting the pavement on his back.

The Riddler smirked. "That should make him think twice about breaking into a police car," he said.

Yin walked over to him. "That man tried to knife me," she said. "Why did he come back here? And how did you get back here? Where's Joe?"

"I lost him, unfortunately," the Riddler said in annoyance. "As I was coming back this way, I saw our friend here opening your door and leaning inside. So I made my way over to see what he was up to. . . . Hello, what's this?" He frowned, staring at an emblem sewn onto the front of the black catsuit.

Yin stared too. "A black horse's head," she said.

"More than that---it's the symbol of a knight in chess," Riddler said. "This man works for the Chessmaster. But he's not merely a hired hitman---he's among the elite."

Yin was half-listening. As she turned to look inside the car, a gasp left her lips. Riddler narrowed his eyes, looking over at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

She pointed at a knife that had been plunged into the back of the driver's seat. Hanging from it was a piece of last Friday's newspaper.

"I thought he was just trying to stop me from catching Joe," she breathed. "But there was a lot more to it than that.

"Riddler, I was tonight's target!"