Museum Studies

Chapter 5: Death Valley

On the one hand, it was nice to get out in the fresh air once in a while, to contemplate an offer of work that wasn't all about Batman—or probably wasn't, Edward mentally amended. He had no idea what Adele Chester had in mind, but…she'd invited him for business. This wasn't social and it wasn't anything more.

He did not have the best track record when it came to the female of the species. Fifteen years ago, when he was going on eighteen, if an attractive woman invited him anywhere for champagne at midnight, he would have felt like James fucking Bond. And that was after years of public school, and all the girls for whom he'd written entire papers, done ninety percent of the work on joint projects, set up computers…and for what? A breathless 'Thank you, Eddie. You're such a good friend.'

It hadn't been much different in college, except that they also wanted help moving. Oh, he'd had a few girlfriends along the way, nothing permanent. Nobody really special. Then he'd got hired as head of the GCPD's Cyber Crimes department, and shortly thereafter, gone over to the Dark Side as much out of boredom as anything else.

Shortly thereafter, he learned that, wow, there were supervillain groupies, but they weren't the sort of girl you exactly wanted to give keys to your secret hideout. For one thing, they liked to overshare on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. He might as well put up a huge green neon question mark over his hideout. So he tried dating women who were already in the business—a tactical mistake, as out-and-out female criminals had no compunction against stealing his share of heist money, falling in love with the Bat and defecting, swiping his ideas and his gadgets, and finally, resorting to violence just to shut him up. Given this dismal life-long losing streak, the last thing he wanted was to get mixed up in the Penguin's daughter's schemes.

Besides, she wasn't his type. He didn't have a type, but if he did, it would be someone like Catwoman, who had a figure and wasn't afraid to show it off. In fact, he was making a series of Riddler trophies in pink and coming up with riddles that, if solved correctly, would lead her to a romantic dinner with him, hopefully the first of many.

Although, for the sake of keeping in good with Cobblepot, (and keeping his kneecaps intact), he was prepared to show up and hear Adele out. Her father was useful; no sense in provoking conflict. Such was his state of mind when he arrived at the Iceberg Lounge, entering via the discreet concealed door which led directly to the other VIP room, the one where the law-abiding never set foot or even dreamed existed. The owner's table was central, of course, and four chairs were arranged around it. Two were already occupied, by the Penguin and his daughter. There was also an ice bucket to the side with a bottle keeping cold in it.

Adele looked like a woman who invited a man to partake of champagne and criminal conspiracy at midnight ought to look, if she possibly can. Wearing a smoky silver dress and red lipstick, she lifted a flute glass to her lips and sipped, smiling at something her father said. Then she caught sight of him, and her smile's wattage jumped. "Hel-lo. You clean up rather nicely," she commented.

"Uh, thank you," he said, and to the Penguin he nodded, "Cobblepot."

"Riddler," the older man returned the nod. "Sit down, make yerself at home. There's a fourth coming to our little party, and I've just got to go check if my lads have found him yet." He hoisted himself to his feet and lumbered off.

"Fourth?" he asked Adele as he took his seat.

She nodded. "Scarecrow. Would you care for some champagne, or would you prefer something else? I don't want to impose my tastes on you."

"Champagne is fine, and besides, your wait staff looks to be sweating bullets tonight." He glanced around.

"We're down by two bartenders and a beverage manager," she explained, sliding a glass across the table to him. "One of the bartenders and the manager were running a swindle on both Dad and the customers.They've been terminated. The other failed to notice what was going on, so he was let go with just a black eye." The meaningful eyeflick she gave him with the word 'terminated' said it all.