Role Play Board: Friday Night Part 3 (Cont)

Friday Night Part 3 (Cont)

Posted by Robin on 7/10/2009, 9:49 pm, in reply to "Friday Night Part 3"
69.180.153.101

----------Wayne Towers, Apartment of the Oracle, Monday June 15th, 1:09PM----------

"Speak of the Devil," Barbara Gordon says as the elevator door to her apartment slides open to reveal the form of Tim Drake, "you must have read my mind."

"I'm too tired to read my own mind, much less anyone else," Tim replies while removing his tennis shoes and hooded sweat shirt then taking a seat on her sofa.

"Long night?" She questions as she turns back to the computer screen and enters a command.

"Are there short ones?" Drake says with a smile while flopping to his back and closing his eyes.

"Probably not," she answers while a painful tidal wave of memories washes through her eyes, "I'm probably only remembering the fun times, not the long dull or painful ones."

"Babs, I didn't mean to," Tim begins to apologize as he springs from the couch and walks to her side.

"I know, and you didn't," Gordon sternly states as the weakness in her voice trails off toward confidence. "Anyway, here's what I meant by speak of the Devil," she says while changing the subject and highlighting a particular line of text on her computer monitor. "I got this from our bug in my Dad's office."

"They have a suspect," Tim replies accepting Barbara's apparent wish to avoid the painful truth of her condition. "Who is she?"

"Amanda Fischer," Barbara answers while bringing up her photo and personal information from the Department of Motor Vehicles database.

"I'll talk to her tonight," Drake states while strolling back toward the elevator and slipping his sneakers back on.

"My Father's already picking her up."

"Oh, that reminds me, I have a favor to ask of you." Tim says while sidling back to her side and beaming an over the top smile her direction.

"What, none of you guys make social calls anymore?" She responds playfully.

"I came here for you, this request was secondary." He retorts while patting her on the shoulder.

"Liar," she quips. "What do you want?"

"I found this business card at Steiner's house and I need to find the connection between the two," Tim asks while handing Jack McKay's card to Barbara. "If you can dig up McKay's financials I think we'll find the connection."

"Tracing the cash of a guy that rich can be a bit tricky," she says while leaning back and yawning, "but I'll add it to my queue of things to do."

"Thanks Babs," Tim exclaims as he scoops up his hooded sweat shirt and boards the elevator. "Oh, and don't let your Dad know that I found that card at his detective's house."

"Since when don't you trust him?" Gordon questions as the elevators doors begin to slide closed.

"Since a police officer was murdered."

----------Gotham District Attorney Offices, Friday June 19th, 8:56PM----------

"We are the few, the proud, the colossally stupid," Assistant District Attorney David Williams quips while refilling his glass of scotch and raising it to his assembled team of lawyers and legal assistants. "To the impossible task of enforcing the law in Gotham."

The collection of public servants shout in a resounding huzzah despite the exhaustion of a fifteen hour day. As the throng of coworkers begin to mingle Williams walks toward the door to the conference room and exits to the hallway.

"You're not skipping out on us, are you?" One of his aides asks as the door begins to close behind him.

"Just making a run to the mens room," David replies with a smile, "but I make no promises that I'll find the way back."

He begins to plod down the hallway toward the restroom, as a strange sense of dread falls over his body. He spins around swiftly fully expecting to find someone behind him, but finds only a quiet and empty hallway. He shakes his head, silently blaming his paranoia on his complete lack of sleep. He turns back toward his destination and continues his trek, finding the near total darkness along the thirty foot hallway all that his rattled nerves can endure. As he finally nears the mens room door he notices out of the corner of his eye, that the door to his coworker and friend Jason Wells' office is slightly ajar, and his desk lamp is still bathing his office in a low gentle light.

David takes a deep steading breath and steps quietly toward the door. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he reaches for the door handle and delicately pushes it open. "Jason," he whispers as the creaky door whines in protest to being opened. "Are you still..."

Before he finishes his sentence, pain and panic run through his mind, as the slowly opening door reveals the corpse of his friend, lying awkwardly on the floor in the center of his office. David's hands fly to his head in disbelief as he runs to the phone and calls the police, reporting that his friend was dead, he was naked from the waist down, and there was a syringe still lodged in his neck.