The Riddler Speaks - Casefile #0160 (Patreon)

(Beeping of a heart monitor is heard.)

EDWARD: Jon. You’re looking… well?

JON: Shut up. I look like death and you know it.

EDWARD: Hey, I tried. It’s not my fault I can’t lie without using riddles.

JON: Edward. As your therapist, it is my duty to inform you that are full of shit.

(EDWARD laughs. JON manages a chuckle.)

EDWARD: So how’s the old ticker?

JON: Still ticking. No thanks to you, jackass.

EDWARD: I got you out of a tight spot, you ungrateful hick. Don’t tell me, you had a cunning plan.

(JON sighs.)

JON: No, I didn’t. You always were better at planning ahead.

EDWARD: (shocked) A compliment? For ME? Oh, I don’t know what to say! Well! First I’d like to thank my useless parents for unleashing me upon this planet, and ooh, my tailor. You have no idea what he can do with a tight inseam.

(JON tries to laugh and coughs.)

EDWARD: You are alright, aren’t you?

JON: I’m fucked up in general, so you’ll have to be more specific.

EDWARD: (snickers) Amen to that. You’ll live, then?

JON: Oh, yeah. I take it you escaped again to come and see me?

EDWARD: Naturally. They’re so busy with transfers at the moment, they won’t even notice I’m gone.

JON: They might notice how quiet it is. How’s Ichabod?

EDWARD: She’s cheerfully working her way through a bag of shell peanuts, as we speak.

JON: Good. Did you bring what I asked for?

EDWARD: Of course. Grade-A contraband, coming right up - anything for the invalid. By the way, when did you start smoking again?

JON: Right now, with any luck. You got a light?

EDWARD: You know I don’t smoke.

JON: Yes. I do know that. I also know you keep a Zippo in your pocket, since you never know when you’re gonna need it. Now quit being obtuse and help me out, will you?

EDWARD: (sighs) Fine. Since when did you start paying attention, anyway?

JON: It was relevant to my interests.

(EDWARD lights JON’s cigarette. JON inhales and exhales with a contented sigh.)

JON: Oh, man. That’s the stuff.

EDWARD: This thing really got to you, didn’t it?

JON: I dunno what you’re talking about.

EDWARD: Now who’s being obtuse? You’re smoking again. You had to give that up after your last relapse - and that was years ago.

JON: I’m fine, Edward. I needed a cigarette, that’s all. It makes me laugh, but, uh.

EDWARD: What does?

JON: That you were fine with me smoking in a hospital.

EDWARD: Eh. It’s not high on our combined list of misdemeanours. Besides, you have a private room. I doubt Matron is going to bustle in and wave her finger at you. Let’s see your chart… looks like you’re due to stay in residence for another two weeks.

JON: (exhaling) What?

EDWARD: For observation.

JON: Oh, fuck that.

EDWARD: Come again?

JON: I’ve had enough of laying around. I got things to do, I got patients to see.

EDWARD: You can strike me off the list; I’d say this counts as a session.

JON: Like hell it does. You’re not getting out of it as easily as that. You still owe me for that one you weaselled out of.

EDWARD: But you have a private room! Arkham’s picking up the tab. Don’t you want to ride this pony for all it’s worth?

JON: No. Staying in here is making me feel… itchy. Help me up.

EDWARD: Jon, the second you pull off those heart monitors, the machine will flatline and everyone will burst in here to save you.

JON: You’re right. Uh, unplug it from the wall, will you? Hey - help me up.

EDWARD: Are you sure you’re alright?

JON: Would you be any different in this situation?

EDWARD: Touché. You’ve lasted longer in here than I would have. Don’t you need a change of clothes? You’re going to stick out, dressed like hat - especially in the back.

JON: Shut up. My stuff’s in the closet. Toss ‘em over, I’ll wear them on top.

(EDWARD moves to the closet and opens it.)

EDWARD: Aren’t these the clothes you were wearing when we brought you in?

JON: Yeah, it’s fine.

EDWARD: But they haven’t been cleaned!

JON: Edward, I said it’s fine.

(EDWARD tosses JON his clothes, and JON covers himself up.)

JON: Right. Let’s get out of here.

EDWARD: Aren’t you forgetting something?

JON: My boots are over there.

EDWARD: Not that. (hands him the boots) Here. No, I’ve been laid up enough to know hospital policy. You have to leave here in a wheelchair. (Southern) Now, I’m no Hoke Colburn, but I can still drive you, Miss Daisy.

(JON and EDWARD laugh.)

JON: Fuck off. Let’s go.