Fourth Time's A Charm

The city's predator takes a bold new move in his attack on Gotham.

Mimi’s Bar & Grill, May 26th, 8:23 p.m.

 

“The usual?” the buxom and entertaining Miranda asked.

 

He nodded, “Draft, ice cold glass, something light.”

 

“Sure thing,” she winked at him and went about fetching his drink.

 

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, but over the years it had evolved into a sports bar. And although he didn’t mind the large screen TV’s, he did mind the rowdy crowds that came on Mondays and on the weekends. Hence, his Tuesday night ritual. For the last five years, Miranda had been the bartender and part time waitress. She was always friendly, willing to listen as any good barkeep should, and frequently dressed in a provocative manner. As a younger man, he had thought her attractive.

 

When she returned, she placed a frothy glass of beer on a coaster and dictated the night’s specials, even though he had already memorized them. He ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and a side of steak fries.

 

As she left to place his order and then to tend to the other clients, he contented himself to watch as everyone milled about the bar. Although a few patrons were of the older variety, there were quite a few younger faces in the crowd. Many were huddled in the large booth in the rear of the main room, sharing pitchers of beer and cheering on at a college baseball game that was on three of the five screens. When he recalled his own college days, he didn’t remember many gatherings such as the one that was before his eyes.

 

He remembered jokes behind his back and long nights in his dorm room.

 

His food arrived in short order and he slowly ate, alternating bites of the sandwich with swallows of beer. It was during this quiet time that he often reflected back on the day’s events. Unfortunately, work had been slow, his only real purposeful task had been helping an older woman up the three steps into the bank’s lobby. The day before had been even worse.

 

However, he had submitted an application at Wayne Enterprises as a guard, thinking anything had to be better then his current position. He was told he would be called in for an interview date within a month. It brought a smile to his face, thinking about a change. Working there would bring him deeper within the city and closer to danger. Maybe then, he could prove himself in a different way.

 

Years earlier, after leaving college one semester short of a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, he had enrolled in the Gotham County Police Academy. All his life he had wished to follow in his uncle’s footsteps and to become a police officer. He would be able to make a name for himself and to really make a difference. Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep track of the courses and quickly fell behind. Within a year, he was nearly at the bottom of his class and saw no hope for recovery. His Advising Officer had suggested that he take some time off and to come back when he had his life figured out.

 

Which sounded to him as if he wasn’t good enough then, that he would never be.

 

After finding a pen from his coat pocket, he found a spare napkin lying out on the bar and made a check list for that week. He had to get his car inspected, had to send his guard uniforms to the drycleaner’s and it was the anniversary of his mother’s death, so that meant a trip to the florist. As he continued scribbling, Miranda appeared with his bill, “What’s that Pete, your laundry list?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

She grinned and handed him the bill, “You are such a great guy. So organized, you have it all together, you know? Hard to believe some lucky girl hasn’t snagged you up yet.”

 

He shrugged and retrieved his wallet, “I’m not that great, Miranda.”

 

She shook her head, “Don’t beat yourself down. The only fault I can see on you is that you don’t smile enough.”

 

To comfort her, he offered a weak grin. She beamed at him and winked, “Atta boy.”

 

He laid out a twenty and mumbled, “Keep the change,” just as he noticed that she was staring down at the list. He covered it quickly and slipped into his pants pocket.

 

He began to shuffle off of the bar stool as she apologized, “Sorry, hon, prying eyes. Always been too curious for my own good. Looks like you got yourself a busy week planned. What are you picking out?”

 

He looked at her, still offended that she had peered onto his list. The last note he had made was “pick one”. Although it was a lie, he replied, “New carpeting. Having the living room redone.”

 

^V^

 

Residence of Selina Kyle, May 26th, 8:29 p.m.

 

“Ow!”

 

“Sorry.”

 

I was sprawled over the still made bed, face down. Her 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. We had just finished a light dinner where the conversation had been even lighter. She had tried to keep my mind off of work as we ate by asking about the weekend. It went without mentioning that I already had plans.

 

For as long as the killer, who had already taken three innocent lives, stayed on the same path, he would be taking another within the next six days.

 

After a long pause, she had stood, taken my hand and led me to the bedroom. I told her I had to get going and her response had been to grab my arm, twist it behind my shoulder and then to plant a knee in the small of back, forcing me to lay face down on the bed.

 

She had just begun to work on my lower lumbar muscles when her phone rang. She swore quietly, got off of the bed and went to fetch it after ordering, “Don’t move.”

 

Instead of starting something with her, I remained horizontal and listened to a muted conversation. And then my hearing was overwhelmed with rough purring. I rolled my head over to the left and found a dark gray tiger cat sitting and staring at me. Selina had several cats, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep them straight.

 

“Vinnie?” I mumbled.

 

It purred louder and reclined barely five inches from my face. I blew air at it and said, “Go on.”

 

Unfortunately, the cat saw that as an invitation to paw at my nose. To avoid its claws, I rolled over onto my side and kept my distance. Having never had a real pet, I had very little experience in handling animals and had a unique way of instigating trouble with them.

 

“What did I tell you?” I heard Selina’s sarcastic voice as she entered the room.

 

“He started it.”

 

She sat on the bed, brushed back a loose strand of hair from her face and caressed the cat’s side. It looked up at her softly, and then glared at me. I scowled at it and Selina reached over and danced her fingers down my rib cage, “There, there. Don’t you two be fighting over little old me.”

 

I smirked softly, “Little, no. Old, ye--.”

 

“Don’t you even dare finish that,” she growled while placing a nail in between two ribs.

 

I paused, contemplated the consequences and finished it, “Yes.” Within a second, she was on me, legs on either side of my waist and ten sharps nails pinned into the flesh of my forearms. As her lips found mine, I decided it was a punishment well deserved.

 

After a few moments of bliss reality returned and I sighed.

 

She asked, “Leaving so soon?” I nodded and she pushed herself off of me and laid beside the cat.

I sat and faced her momentarily before getting up, “Thanks for dinner.”

 

“Anytime. Too bad you couldn’t stay for dessert.”

 

I laughed quietly as I slipped my shoes back on and reached for my coat, “Next time.”

 

“That’s what you always say.”

 

“I know.”

 

She rubbed the cat’s chin then knelt on the bed, facing me, all in one fluid movement. I stepped forward after slipping the coat on and set my hands on her hips. She reached up and straightened my collar before kissing me softly on the lips. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stay. She knew it as well, but still couldn’t accept it.

 

“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 always am.”

 

She paused, bit her lip and then whispered, “No, you’re not.”

 

^V^

 

Residence of Peter Placido, May 27th, 1:22 a.m.

 

“Done,” he 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. As suggested by his therapist when he was a young child, keeping a journal would help keep his stress down.

 

And so for twenty-five years, he had written out his thoughts in his own hand on countless of notebooks at the conclusion of each day. At last count, he had sixteen totes filled with past journals that were stored in the attic and garage. He only read the entries once, and that was directly after writing them, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.

 

He put the notebook in the desk drawer and stood slowly, allowing his tired legs a moment to regain their strength. As he stood, his eyes glanced over the uncluttered desk. A silver framed picture came under his gaze. It was of his mother, her dark hair pinned back tightly and her too-calm face paled by the flash of the camera. She had been gone for twenty-four years to the day.

 

As he stared at his mother’s image, he felt the memories wash over him like ice water. At the time, he nor his father knew what was wrong with her. All they had known was 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. She would cry for hours. No matter how they tried, he nor his father could get her to snap out of it. They had to wait it out.

 

Or at least he had waited.

 

His father couldn’t handle a weepy wife who would ignore him. He went in search for someone who would care for him. Who would please him. And while his father went off on said search, he would stay home, kneeling beside his mother’s bedside, asking her what he could do for her.

 

She would never answer. Sometimes she would just turn away and cry harder.

 

Sometimes, he would crawl into bed with her, and cry with her.

 

Sometimes he would just leave her and cry on his own out in the hall.

 

He had been very careful to record her good days and bad days, in hopes that he could somehow predict when the next round would come. It worked for a while. He tried to show his father his journals, how he had kept track of things. His father had told him that nothing could help his mother. That he needed to get on with life.

 

And then she had died and the records hadn’t mattered anymore.

 

He found his legs had grown weak and allowed himself to sit back down in the chair.

 

He thought to himself, how it had been the W***e 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 W***e that lured his father into the trap of a new marriage and had led them away from his home. To a far away city where evil itself was a way of life.

 

After taking a deep breath, he pushed the thoughts out of his mind. For reflection made him sad and being sad made him angry. And he had to contain his anger. For a few more days, at least.

 

^V^

 

The Empire Club, May 29th, 12:01 a.m.

 

“He is so checking you out.”

 

Karen laughed and leaned over towards her roomie, Becca. “Right, I’m thinking he’s been watching you since you came back from the bar.” She paused, then carefully glanced over towards the bar. He was good looking, that’s for sure. Tall, dark and handsome. She had first seen him when she returned from the bathroom. He had looked away, but not before she had locked eyes with him.

 

Without a thought, Karen finished off her drink and grabbed Becca’s hand, leading them to the dance floor, “Come on, let’s give lover boy a show.”

 

With finals long done and graduation long over, Karen had been settling into her new life in Gotham. She had attended Hudson U for eight semesters and had finished her bachelor’s in interior design. She had already landed a job at Martine Design, which had signed her on for a great salary considering how young she was. Even still, she was no where near being able to afford her own place and had found a roommate who also just graduated from school and needed help with the rent. After living together for three weeks, they were practically best friends.

 

Always looking out for one another.

 

After working her way through three songs and another round of drinks, Karen was definitely starting to feel the night. And the continuous gaze of her secret admirer. She had been single for well over a year, and even then, she had little experience with guys.

 

As a result, the taunting hazel eyes that had been watching her through the night beckoned for her attention. Becca caught her staring over at the bar and elbowed her friend, “Go on. I’ll stay at Dave’s tonight.”

 

“No,” Karen gasped, “I wouldn’t”

 

“Come on, give yourself a little celebration. You so deserve it.”

 

She wasn’t that kind of a girl. Her few intimate experiences had always been with guys she had known for some time. Never an infamous one night stand. Becca nudged her side again, “Go on, he’s hot. If you don’t take him, I will.”

 

Karen grinned, “You so will not.” And before she could contemplate her actions, she fluffed her hair once more and then about faced before heading to the bar. The stool next to him was coincidentally available. When she was within five feet of him, he turned suddenly and tapped the bar with his knuckles, grabbing the bartender’s attention. She sat as his focus was diverted and then asked the bartender for a refill of her cosmo. As their drinks arrived, he looked over at her, and smiled, revealing perfect, white teeth. “Hey there.”

 

She beamed, “Hi, I’m Karen.”

 

“Charles,” he replied. His hair was short and slightly curly. 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 high-pitched laugh and covered her mouth to quiet herself, “No, actually I never come out. Like this, anyway.”

 

He smiled, “Me neither. I was supposed to meet someone, but I guess they didn’t show up.”

 

“A girl someone?”

 

He nodded, “Blind date. Lousy place for it, I suppose.”

 

She cocked her head and traced the rim of her glass with a finger, “Yeah. Lousy place in general. Want to get out of here?”

 

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, but before she could say anything, he spoke over the music, “Sure.”

 

Once outside, she drew a few long breaths of fresh air and then turned to face her new friend. He had a solid six inches over her and his body appeared to be toned to perfection underneath a tailored shirt. A guy who cared about his looks. A guy that cared about hers.

 

Although she had driven, Becca had taken the keys and put them in her purse. She was about to ask if Charles had brought a car when he suggested, “Should we get a cab?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Within fifteen minutes they had hailed a cab and had crossed nearly fifty blocks before pausing at Karen and Becca’s apartment building. He paid in full, tipped and even held the door for her. Hot and a charmer.

“Hey, it’s pretty nice out, do you want to walk for a bit?” he asked.

 

She nodded and leaned against him, “Sure, Robinson Park’s like a block from here.”

 

Actually it had been three. In the time it took them to reach the park’s entrance, they had divulged a bit of information to each other. She told him about how she was just out of school and how she just got a really great job. He told her he was a police officer and when she asked to see his badge, he proudly showed it to her.

 

“Wow, that must be so exciting,” she said, hooking her arm with his.

 

“Yeah, you get to see quite a bit,” he paused, smiled and then said, “And make a difference at the same time.”

 

The main gate of the Park was opened. Although it was supposed to be closed from ten at night until six the next morning, the city left it open later during the summer so that Gothamites could enjoy the nice weather. Karen led the way down a paved path she jogged every other afternoon. She felt safe with a cop at her side, knowing he would protect her from the dangers of the night.

 

^V^

 

Robinson Park, May 29th, 10:45 p.m.

 

He changed his pattern.

 

Left the body out in the open. Well, almost open. One of the lawn keepers had come later in the afternoon to bag up clipped grass and to collect brush for mulch. After clearing a few fallen limbs, remnants of last week’s thunderstorm, he noticed something that looked like a doll’s hand. When he looked closer, he realized it was no doll.

 

I stood in between two large pines and watched as the remaining crime scene investigators packed up and loaded their trucks. After five hours of searching, they had found what they could and were ready to organize what little evidence they had collected. Once alone, I could finally get to work.

 

Scanning the immediate area, I noticed the staked out region where the body had been found. All leaves and twigs had been taken as evidence, in hopes that the killer had left behind something in the new environment. When I had learned of the new victim and of the new location, I had wondered if the killer was beginning to unravel. Or, if he was simply growing bolder.

 

With my luck, it would have been the latter.

 

I turned on a small flashlight and searched what was left of the scene. Gordon promised pictures and some samples of the so-called evidence when he could manage the time to get them for me. Until then, I was on my own.

 

Stepping slowly, I moved around the scene, avoiding possible footprints. After a moment, I listened to the silence of the park and suddenly wondered what Karen Richmond had heard when he came up from behind her, strangling her first and then stabbing her side repeatedly. Enough to stun her, but not enough to kill her. After all, he wasn’t finished with her.

 

“Boss?” Oracle’s voice filled my ear.

 

I drew a breath and returned to the seclusion of the trees, “Yes?”

“Checking in, saw you were still at the park.”

 

“Yes,” I confirmed, even though it was unnecessary. She could tell me my exact global position with a click of a button.

 

She continued, “Right, well, Batgirl and Robin have teamed up, are working through the East side towards the shore. Said they could handle things if you wanted to work on this.”

 

After a moment, I replied, “Fine.”

 

I listened as she drew a shaky breath, paused and then signed off, “All right, I’ll be here if you need me.”

She closed the connection knowing all too well that I wasn’t about to reply. With no further distractions, I searched the paths that lead towards the kill site. If she had been taking a late night walk, traveling down the paved path, there were numerous spots where he could have hidden himself. Waiting in the trees, hiding in the hedges or even quietly moving across the darkened lawn. The lights were spaced every fifty yards, which unfortunately allotted several dark areas along the trail.

 

Dark areas where innocents became victims in the blink of an eye.

 

My eyes shifted on their own and studied the marked area where the victim had been found. I allowed a final glance before moving deeper amidst the trees, heading straight for the ten-foot stone wall that acted as the perimeter around the entire park. Despite continuous efforts, youths still marked the smooth stone with spray paint, but not to the extent as was seen in the past. At the point where I prepared to leap up to the top of the wall, I noticed a faded lime green marking in large block stylized letters that read: If U Enter, Death Becumz U.

 

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.

 

After traveling eight blocks, interrupting a mugging and climbing to the top of the Modern Art Museum, Oracle contacted me, “This girl was a piranha.”

 

“Excuse me?” I asked, not quite sure she had intended to speak with me.

 

She elaborated, “This fourth victim. I ‘accidentally’ listened in on the coroner’s phone call with the crime lab. Turns out they found blood in her mouth that was A positive. And since she was typed as B negative, that means she’s a biter.”

 

I paused before replying, “Any skin?”

 

“No, the coroner just said blood. Then he said he had to go, had most of the autopsy left. Was complaining to the officer that he was pulled in from a poker game to work on her,” she sighed, “What an a*s.”

 

I paused and then asked her to keep tabs on anything that came in on the case and also asked her to work on downloading the coroner’s findings and if possible, to send out her Eyes to investigate even further. The police had canvassed the area earlier, showing a picture of the victim to managers and bartenders as they opened and prepared for another night. News coverage, as with the other victims, was limited. Footage of the scene, a rehash of events and warnings to citizens had been made, for what they were worth.

 

Unfortunately, the person who was doing this was a faceless boogey man, hiding in the dark.

 

I worked my way towards Gotham City Police Headquarters, jumping from one building to the next, all the while scanning the streets below. One alley in particular, I noticed scurried movement at the sight of my shadow. Urban myth or not, those lurking below knew better than to meddle.

 

By the time I had made it to Gordon’s office, it was a little before eleven-thirty. He was in his desk chair, leaning as far back as gravity would allow. I noticed his glasses were folded and resting on a pile of paperwork in the left hand corner of his desk. Not wanting to alarm him, I allowed the window to creak softly as I opened it and stepped inside.

 

He looked in my direction briefly, “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 I don’t find this guy†Well, it’s not too bright of a future.”

 

“Four victims. Three or four times that die every night in this city because of the gangs.”

 

Gordon sat up and rubbed his forehead, “Right, but the gangs shoot each other up. They don’t fillet young, pretty girls and rape them.”

 

A moment of silent tension filled the air between us. He was angry at himself just as much as he was at me and at the man who was hiding from us.

 

“Well, we did get something out of his cockiness. Left several footprints in the grass. Size eleven, army boot from the looks of the print. Had forensics look it over, said the length of his stride suggested someone well over six feet.”

 

I nodded almost unnoticeably.

 

He then reached for his glasses and donned them carefully, “Old news to you, I’m sure.”

 

Recalling the search I had done earlier that evening, I asked, “Have they found the roommate?”

 

He nodded, “Yes. And unbelievably, she was with the victim last night. Went to some club over on West Kane Street. Said there was a guy checking them out, she told the victim to go over and hook up with him. Said that was the last time she saw either one of them. Had no clue if they left together or not.”

Intrigued, I asked, “Did she see his face?”

 

“What she could see in a dark, strobe lit bar. Artist had a go at her for a while, but she couldn’t even get a complete sketch out of the vague details. Helped that the roommate had a BAL of .5. All she could say for certain was,” he lifted a sheet of paper off of his desk, “‘Hot, dark hair, kinda curly and he had a nice a*s.’ Very helpful, that describes half the pimps in Gotham.”

 

“What about the bartender?”

 

Gordon shrugged, “He remembered the girl ordered about three too many martinis. Said he didn’t really remember a curly haired serial killer, that the place was packed and he had to cover most of the bar since the other tender was new.” He put the paper into a blank folder and offered it to me. Another to add to the collection. “Have you visited the site?”

 

I nodded, “Lots of vantage points.”

 

“I hate that 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 looked up at me, revealing a tired and frustrated face. Mine mirrored his exactly, but was concealed partly in the dim light and mostly by my cowl.

 

After taking the file off of his desk and stepped towards the window. Just as I was about to move on, he spoke, “He had to pick on pretty young women.”

 

All at once, I knew we were thinking of the same pretty young woman.

 

His daughter.

 

My ally.

 

^V^