The Doctor Is In

Fine Feathered Finks

Present Day

   I sit watching Ozzy’s heinous eating habits, as he dangles his last piece of calamari over his head and drops it down into his mouth. This is all part of his act, his Penguin persona, the same goes for the stupid British accent he uses when speaking to the waiter,

“No dessert for us tonight Garson, we’ll be late for the opera.”

“Opera?” I ask aloud.

He turns to me, nodding, “I’ve reserved two wonderful seats at the Gotham Opera House.”

When’s the last time I’ve been to the opera? The last time I was with Ozzy, I guess. He’s the one who introduced me to opera, and I do rather like it, if only to have a good time with him.

I take his hand as he leads me down the delicate bending staircase made of glass stained to look like ice. As we reach the bottom of the staircase, a woman dressed in a tight sportsdress marches up to him in her black heels,

“Oie, Penguin, where’ve you been all night? An’ who’s she? She one of the dancers or something?” dear God, her British accent is worse than his.

“Trixie, this is Tracey, one the restaurant managers.” he introduces, “Tracey, this is Trixie, my...well, we’re still working that one out, aren’t we?”

“We’re old friends.” I say politely.

She raises her eyebrow, “She looks a lot like Candy. If you really wanted some company boss, why not just ask her? She’s certainly got bigger tits than-”

“That’s...that’s quite enough Tracey.” Ozzy chuckles nervously, gripping my wrist tightly, “Take care of the place while I’m gone, as you usually do.”

We’re just about to leave the restaurant when a familiar man in a green suit approaches them, “Ah, Cobblepot, I see you have your girlfriend back.”

“Nigma, I see you’ve escaped Arkham once again. You’ll have to thank me for the break-out though. I assume the passages are back open?”

He nods, “Certainly. Your men were even kind enough to move around the entrances. No longer will our little secret be trampled upon by pure accident.” his eyes drift to me, and he spends a few seconds looking me over. Does he recognize me?

“Would you stop staring, boy? If you want to stare at girls, the cabaret show is just beyond the casino.” Ozzy demands, pulling me away from him.

Mr. Nigma, or should I call him the Riddler, smiles through his purple-tinted glasses, “Riddle me this: I talk, but I do not speak my mind

I hear words, but I do not listen to thoughts

When I wake, all see me

When I sleep, all hear me

Many heads are on my shoulders

Many hands are at my feet

The strongest steel cannot break my visage

But the softest whisper can destroy me. What am I?”

“People have better things to do than sit and pick apart your silly puzzles, Nigma.” Ozzy spits, “Come my darling, we mustn’t be late.”

I feel Riddler’s eyes trained on me as we exit the Iceberg Lounge, “The answer is: an actor!”

   We starting walking the streets, the Gotham Opera is only a few blocks away. The streets are dark and dimly lit, as usual.
“Tracey, was it? And there’s another woman too...Candy?” I ask, recalling the woman with the horrid imitation of a British accent.