Chapter 9 - In the Batmobile
It was one explosion too many, too soon after the library had been blown up. I jumped back, grabbing for Batman's arm without even thinking about it. A moment later, it was over with black ash and dust falling down, but my heart was pounding in my chest. I had been so stupid – what if I had talked the Riddler into proving the dynamite was real while the guards were still tied the pillar? They would have died, and it would have been my fault.
I looked up at Batman, and he stared down at me, giving me that stern look that promised he would be dealing with me as soon as he could. I felt even worse.
The Riddler was running away as fast as he could, his shoes slapping on the pavement as he ran from the scene of his crime, the explosion that he had caused.
Batman sighed as he pulled out a batarang and a length of cord attached to it. A throw and a yank, and he had the Riddler on the ground with the cord tight around his torso.
Batman grimly pulled him up to face us, and I couldn't help blurting out,
"You idiot, why did you blow the bank up?"
"I told you the dynamite was real," Riddler smirked, looking as smug as he could with his arms trapped to his side. "Maybe next time, you'll believe me."
"But you could have just walked away," I pointed out.
The Riddle blinked, and glanced hesitantly at Batman. Scowling fiercely, Batman glanced at the mess and shook his head as sounds of sirens filled the air. He was making a decision about what to do – I can always tell when he's trying to decide something even though Bruce thinks he's so unreadable with all his emotional control.
Then in flash, he grabbed Riddler's stupid bowler hat off his head.
"Hey, that's mine," Riddler protested. He made a movement to grab it, but his arms were tied to his side by the cord so he could only flap his hands by his side.
Batman took a metal bat out of his belt and stuck one of the sharp wings through the hat.
"You're ruining it," Riddler objected. "That's destruction of –"
"Of property?" Batman challenged. "You have no room to talk here, Riddler, so keep quiet."
He flung the hat and the metal bat, and they flew through the air until the bat stuck in a part of the wall, keeping the hat up as well.
"Our calling cards," Batman growled, "so they know who made this mess and who has apprehended you."
He grabbed Riddler by the back of neck, and then he grabbed me as well. His hands are hard ordinarily, but with the thick gloves on, he might as well have had iron hands. I was glad he kept his hand on the back of my neck though – his strength grounded me after the shock of the explosion.
He marched us to the Batmobile before anyone could arrive on the scene. I was hoping he might tie the Riddler to the pillar, rough him up a little, and then drive off with me in the Batmobile. That would be cool – to swing into the Batmobile and smirk at the Riddler right before we sped off. But instead, Batman stood us beside the car, trapping us side-by-side between him and the Batmobile.
"We're going to have a little talk," Batman growled. "Robin, let discuss your impulsiveness. Right here. Right now."
All the caffeine coursing through my body suddenly stopped, and I felt my stomach dropped into my sneakers. He would not . . . he could not – not here – not in front of a criminal, especially such a snotty, smug one.
"Please, don't," I begged before I realized I was speaking. "Please, Batman, please, I'm sorry. Don't – not here."
"You helped to goad a criminal into destroying public property. I can't let this behavior go."
"But he's the one who blew it up," I screeched, my voice horribly high. "He tied the guards up and he set the dynamite and he blew up the front. I was just – just . . . please don't, please, please, please, please –"
"Good grief," the Riddler interrupted my pleading, "what the hell is he going to do to you? I thought he was your leader guy, your trainer person."
"Mentor, you idiot," Batman snapped. The Riddler blanched at his hard tone, but I protested,
"It's not fair to punish me and let him get off free."
"He's not getting off free – he's going back to Arkham," Batman pointed out.
"Some punishment," I scoffed. "He was going there anyway, and they won't do anything to him."
"You're obviously never stayed at Arkham," the Riddler shot back.
Batman was still deciding what to do with me, and I prayed he would decide against punishing me out here. That's the thing about Bruce – when he's made up his mind, nothing can stop him. Then I just have to suffer through whatever he plans to do, knowing I can't fight him and running is useless, too. But if he's wavering at all, well, then I beg my hardest because he'll usually give in eventually. A "Maybe" from Bruce is as good as a "Yes," and I was going to beg on my knees if I had to.
"All right, we're leaving now," Batman finally made up his mind. "Both of you, in the car."
"It only has two seats," I said, trying not to show my extreme relief that I was not getting spanked, at least not now. I could stand getting walloped when we got home – I would hate it, of course, but at least I would not be humiliated by the Riddler watching.
"It's big enough for the two of you," Batman said in his no-arguing voice.
He was probably right – I'm not that tall and the Riddler's pretty thin and the seats in the Batmobile are pretty big.
"Robin in first," Batman held the door open for us.
I slid into the seat, but the Riddler protested, "What about this cord? I promise I won't run."
"Nice try," Batman said dryly. "Get in."
The Riddler crammed in beside me, and I glared at him, and he glared right back. He wasn't that old, and up close, he looked more like a college student than a man. Bruce leaned in to strap the seatbelt over both of us, clicking it firmly.
"I could have done it," I told him, but Batman just shut our door.
"Move over," the Riddler hissed.
"I'm crammed up against the controls," I retorted. "You've got enough room."
"My arms are tied to my side."
"Well, whose fault is that? You had to blow up the bank."
"I was making a point," the Riddler insisted.
"Yeah," I said sarcastically, "that you're a dumbass."
Batman's door opened, and he got into his seat and shut his door. He looked at the both of us for a long while, his lips pressed together in disapproval.
"Can we go already?" I finally asked. "We're squished in here, and he smells bad."
"I do not," Riddler objected.
He didn't smell at all – well, maybe a little of gunpowder, but I think that was more from the blast. But I was glad to rile him up.
"You do," I wrinkled my nose. "You stink."
"It's Arkham," the Riddler insisted. "They only let you shower for a few minutes, and half the time it's with cold water, and if they think you're going to try to drown yourself, they strap you down to a metal table with holes in it and spray you with the hose. It's awful."
"Then stop acting crazy and trying to drown yourself," I told him though I felt a little sorry for him.
"It's not my fault," he told us. "I never know what they're going to put the medication."
Batman turned to look at him. "They change your medication often?"
"Not just change it," Riddler said fervently. "Sometimes they put stuff in the food. I wake up some mornings and don't know if I'm imagining the clowns dancing around or seeing Joker's henchmen."
"Is Dr. Strange experimenting on inmates again?" Batman asked.
"Again?" Riddle laughed shortly. "He never stopped. I see these huge loads of drugs coming in, being carried back to his labs, and I know sooner or later he'll drag us back and shoot us up with that crap."
"Watch your language," Batman warned. "Has Strange . . . experimented on you?"
The Riddler nodded, swallowing hard. "Twice. I was freaking out. It was worse than any fear toxin I've ever taken, and believe me I've tried some stuff. He had me strapped down on a gurney, face down. But there was this hole thing for your face, so I was scaring down at the floor, and he injected the drugs into my ass – er, rear, and I started freaking out. I was screaming and begging – I thought my head would explode and my body was on fire, and he kept sticking those needles into me and giving me more and more –"
"That's enough," Batman said quietly, glancing quickly at me. "I'll be taking care of Strange later."
He turned the car on, shifted into gear, and sped onto the road.
The Riddler was sniffing, and unable to free his hands, he kept lifting his shoulders to rub his face.
"It's going to be okay, Edward," Batman said calmly.
I forgot that the Riddler had a real name, and it sounded odd for Batman to use it. I felt bad for the Riddler, but annoyed that he was trying to get sympathy from Batman. Bruce never felt sorry for me losing my parents, but he felt sorry for this criminal who broke the law. So unfair.
"Oh, stuff a sock in it," I told the Riddler. "You're in Arkham for a reason – you keep doing crimes and bad stuff. And pretending to cry is not going to distract us from the fact that you blew up the front of the bank. You're just trying to show off – wanting us to notice you, pay attention, spend time with you when other people are in trouble and need our help."
The Batmobile jerked to a stop by the curb so hard the seatbelt bit into my shoulder. I cringed, afraid Batman would start yelling at me, but he turned ominously to the Riddler.
"All right," Batman's voice was ever sterner, "who are you covering for, Riddler?"
"What?" the Riddler's voice was high-pitched. "What makes you think –"
"You're covering for someone," Batman cut him off. "You usually try to trap me in some elaborate riddle, and you only appear at the end, once I've won, for me to knock you out and drag you back to Arkham. Tonight, you have guards and dynamite tied to a pillar and you were waiting them out in the open – who are you working with? Who are you covering for?"
"No one!" Riddler's voice was as high as a girl's.
"Edward Nigma," Batman looked straight at the squirming criminal, "you will tell me right now or I will make this very uncomfortable for you."
"You won't do that," Riddler began to panic. "You're supposed to the hero of this town. You have rules."
"I have one rule," Batman growled. "I do not kill. But anything short of that, including beating you to a pulp, is allowed. Last chance, Riddler."
"I know n-nothing," Riddler stammered.
Batman let his breath out heavily, and then he reached for the door.
"What are you going to do?" Riddler cried out.
Batman kept his hand on the door as he answered, "I'm going to pull you out and lay you over the Batmobile. And then I'm going to take one of my clubs and beat you for a while. We'll see how long you can last. I've been told I have very strong arms."
"You wouldn't," Riddler whimpered.
I wanted to laugh at his fear, but I knew Batman was playing him, so I shrank back in my seat and tried to look like I was really scared of what might happened because it had happened before. I didn't think Riddler would buy it, but Batman reach to the back pulled out a thick stick. It was something Batman used that pulled out into a long pole for vaulting and jumping really high, but the way it was, it looked like a really, really heavy club.
"I'll try not to damage your kidneys," Batman opened the door.
"I'll talk!" the Riddler wailed.
I rolled my eyes, but Batman slammed his door. "Names right now."
"It's Crane," the Riddler gasped. "Scarecrow, you know."
"He got out of Arkham a month ago," Batman nodded.
"I know, he came back to visit me in Arkham," Riddler gulped. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. "He – he told me he was hijacking mob money. I was supposed to keep you busy while he did the job, and I would have done it except he," here he glared at me, "kept talking and confused me."
"So you were a red herring," Batman frowned. "A decoy to keep me busy while Crane did the real job and took the money. What did Crane promise you? A cut?"
"He promised me half," the Riddler said. "He got his guys to break me out of Arkham, and we were going to meet up later for him to give me my share."
"And you actually thought he was going to keep his promise?"
"Why not?" the Riddler's jaw tightened. "We're friends. Crane wouldn't double-cross me."
"Crane would double cross his own mother if he thought it would work to his advantage," Batman shot back. "The moment you show up, he's going to give you a face-full of nerve gas and leave you shaking on the ground."
"He would not," the Riddler insisted. "Crane would never do that, not to me."
Batman looked steadily at him, and the Riddler finally glanced down, defeated, but knowing Batman was right.
"That betraying, slimy motherfu-"
"Edward," Batman barked out as he started the Batmobile again, "watch yourself. There are children here."
"He's old enough to fight crime on the dark streets of Gotham, but not hear me swear?" the Riddler demanded. "What kind of a mentor are you? Come on, man, who are you really? Just tell me – I promise I won't tell them."
"Tell who?" Batman pulled the car forward.
"The doctors at Arkham. They really want to get to know the man behind the mask. But I'll keep the secret."
"Where is Crane?" Batman asked.
"I'll give you a clue. It's a place that's celebrated but once every thousand years though it offers to save for you every day, and –"
"More riddles?" I snorted. I though I had been really good and quiet up to this point. And the fact that I had helped Batman figure out what was going on, surely that was enough to get me off the hook. But I could not listen to the Riddler run his mouth again. "Do you ever stop? No wonder you don't have any friends."
The Riddler looked murderous, and then he rammed his shoulder into me.
"Hey!" I shouted, and I shoved back at him.
We pushed for about ten seconds until Batman slapped my thigh . . . hard.
"Ow," I jerked to a stop.
"Ha-ha," the Riddler jeered. "Look who got smacked."
I jammed my elbow into his thin stomach, and we were back at it again.
Batman swatted my leg again and then reached over to swat the Riddler's as well.
"Ow!" Riddler hissed. "What did you hit me for? I'm not your sidekick."
"You two behave, or I'll take a club to both of you."
"He beats you?" the Riddler looked at me in horror.
"He doesn't beat me – he just –" I dropped off abruptly, flushing.
"What, he spanks you?" Riddler sneered. I didn't know where to look, but the Riddler leaned back against the seat bitterly. "It figures."
"What figures?" Batman asked.
"I don't want to talk about it. Did you work out my riddle?"
"Yes, the Millennium Bank. What figures out?"
"That you would be the perfect father to him as well as the perfect guardian of a city," the Riddler sneered.
"He's not the perfect father," I blurted out.
Batman stiffened, but the Riddler turned to me.
"Does he come home drunk and beat up on you? Does he call you weak and pathetic because you wanted to go for the chess team instead of football? Is he going to kick you out the moment you turn eighteen because he can't stand the sight of your ugly face any longer?"
I looked at him and then glanced at Batman. But he said nothing.
"If not, then I think he's about as close to a perfect father as you're going to get," the Riddler told me. "So if he swats you a few times, be glad he doesn't use his fists just to teach you how to be a man."
"That's enough," Batman decided. "Here's the bank. I'll be right back."
"We can't come?" I protested. "I want to get the Scarecrow."
"And I want to pound his face into the cement," the Riddler snarled.
"Too dangerous," Batman told us. "There will be fear toxin, and I only have one face mask. I'm going to look for now. No fighting while I'm gone."
"You're his father – not mine," the Riddler retorted.
"One more word out of you, and I'll be more a father to you than you ever thought possible," Batman swung out of the car and shut the door.
I watched him run towards the bank, and then the Riddler started squirming again.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
"Trying to get free," the Riddler told me. "I don't want to go back to Arkham."
"Then stop doing bad stuff," I rolled my eyes again.
"Is it that easy? Just don't do it because you might get caught? Does the thought of punishment keep you from doing something bad?"
As much as I hated it, he had a point. And that made me even madder. I could have helped him get free, but I wouldn't even unbuckle the seatbelt as he twisted and tried to bite at the cord to free himself.
He finally got one end a little loose, but I reached up and pulled the cord tight and twisted it underneath the rest of the cord where he couldn't reach.
"Sorry," I smirked. "That was getting a little loose."
"I swear, I will make you pay."
"Whatever. Stop moving. Man, I have to go." It was true – I had gone before we left, but the rest of the coffee was wearing on me and I wished patrolling came with bathroom breaks.
"Really?" the Riddler looked devilish. "Then just think of long, pouring waterfalls, and streams trickling down into lakes, and fountains gushing –"
"You do realize that if I pee it's getting all over you too?"
The Riddler shut his mouth and turned to look out the window. He managed to stay quiet for a minute before he huffed,
"What's taking so long? Beat Crane up and let's get out of here."
"These things take time."
"Really?"
"I don't know – that's what Batman always says. He wants us to go into things slow and easy. I'd rather jump into the fight. He makes me practice fighting for hours only so I won't have to do it for real."
"Adults, huh?" the Riddle shook his head. "They never make any sense."
"You're an adult," I pointed out.
"Hardly. People say I still look like a teenager. No one treats me with any respect at Arkham either. Not the doctors or the patients. I'm the smartest person there – you think they would treat me better, but someone's always picking on me."
"Life sucks sometimes," I agreed.
"At least you have him," the Riddler nodded in the direction where Batman had disappeared. "I mean, you get into real trouble, and he'll come save you. Must be nice to know there is one person you can always trust."
"I'm not letting you free," I told him bluntly, unmoved by his sob stories. "Even if I wanted to, he locked us in. It would take a bomb to get us out of here."
The words were barely out of my mouth when a huge explosion lit up the darkness. It was ten times bigger than the dynamite the Riddler had used.
I almost lost it in the Batmobile, and I mean really lost it, bladder, control of my body, wanting to scream for Batman. If he blew up in the explosion –
I unbuckled the seatbelt and reached down to push the special button that Batman had shown me for emergencies, when I had to get out of the car. I heard the doors unlock and I reached over the Riddler to push the door open.
The moment it was free, I shoved him hard. He tumbled out with a cry and hit the pavement. I leapt out, stepping on him as I went, but I paid no attention to his squalls as I began running towards the billowing smoke.
I needed Batman – I needed to know that he was still alive. And if anything, anything at all, had happened to him, I would destroy Crane with my bare hands. I wanted the Scarecrow's blood; I planned to tear him apart and listen to his pleas as I did it.
As I ran, I heard my voice screaming out for Batman, but inside my head, I was calling for Bruce.
I looked up at Batman, and he stared down at me, giving me that stern look that promised he would be dealing with me as soon as he could. I felt even worse.
The Riddler was running away as fast as he could, his shoes slapping on the pavement as he ran from the scene of his crime, the explosion that he had caused.
Batman sighed as he pulled out a batarang and a length of cord attached to it. A throw and a yank, and he had the Riddler on the ground with the cord tight around his torso.
Batman grimly pulled him up to face us, and I couldn't help blurting out,
"You idiot, why did you blow the bank up?"
"I told you the dynamite was real," Riddler smirked, looking as smug as he could with his arms trapped to his side. "Maybe next time, you'll believe me."
"But you could have just walked away," I pointed out.
The Riddle blinked, and glanced hesitantly at Batman. Scowling fiercely, Batman glanced at the mess and shook his head as sounds of sirens filled the air. He was making a decision about what to do – I can always tell when he's trying to decide something even though Bruce thinks he's so unreadable with all his emotional control.
Then in flash, he grabbed Riddler's stupid bowler hat off his head.
"Hey, that's mine," Riddler protested. He made a movement to grab it, but his arms were tied to his side by the cord so he could only flap his hands by his side.
Batman took a metal bat out of his belt and stuck one of the sharp wings through the hat.
"You're ruining it," Riddler objected. "That's destruction of –"
"Of property?" Batman challenged. "You have no room to talk here, Riddler, so keep quiet."
He flung the hat and the metal bat, and they flew through the air until the bat stuck in a part of the wall, keeping the hat up as well.
"Our calling cards," Batman growled, "so they know who made this mess and who has apprehended you."
He grabbed Riddler by the back of neck, and then he grabbed me as well. His hands are hard ordinarily, but with the thick gloves on, he might as well have had iron hands. I was glad he kept his hand on the back of my neck though – his strength grounded me after the shock of the explosion.
He marched us to the Batmobile before anyone could arrive on the scene. I was hoping he might tie the Riddler to the pillar, rough him up a little, and then drive off with me in the Batmobile. That would be cool – to swing into the Batmobile and smirk at the Riddler right before we sped off. But instead, Batman stood us beside the car, trapping us side-by-side between him and the Batmobile.
"We're going to have a little talk," Batman growled. "Robin, let discuss your impulsiveness. Right here. Right now."
All the caffeine coursing through my body suddenly stopped, and I felt my stomach dropped into my sneakers. He would not . . . he could not – not here – not in front of a criminal, especially such a snotty, smug one.
"Please, don't," I begged before I realized I was speaking. "Please, Batman, please, I'm sorry. Don't – not here."
"You helped to goad a criminal into destroying public property. I can't let this behavior go."
"But he's the one who blew it up," I screeched, my voice horribly high. "He tied the guards up and he set the dynamite and he blew up the front. I was just – just . . . please don't, please, please, please, please –"
"Good grief," the Riddler interrupted my pleading, "what the hell is he going to do to you? I thought he was your leader guy, your trainer person."
"Mentor, you idiot," Batman snapped. The Riddler blanched at his hard tone, but I protested,
"It's not fair to punish me and let him get off free."
"He's not getting off free – he's going back to Arkham," Batman pointed out.
"Some punishment," I scoffed. "He was going there anyway, and they won't do anything to him."
"You're obviously never stayed at Arkham," the Riddler shot back.
Batman was still deciding what to do with me, and I prayed he would decide against punishing me out here. That's the thing about Bruce – when he's made up his mind, nothing can stop him. Then I just have to suffer through whatever he plans to do, knowing I can't fight him and running is useless, too. But if he's wavering at all, well, then I beg my hardest because he'll usually give in eventually. A "Maybe" from Bruce is as good as a "Yes," and I was going to beg on my knees if I had to.
"All right, we're leaving now," Batman finally made up his mind. "Both of you, in the car."
"It only has two seats," I said, trying not to show my extreme relief that I was not getting spanked, at least not now. I could stand getting walloped when we got home – I would hate it, of course, but at least I would not be humiliated by the Riddler watching.
"It's big enough for the two of you," Batman said in his no-arguing voice.
He was probably right – I'm not that tall and the Riddler's pretty thin and the seats in the Batmobile are pretty big.
"Robin in first," Batman held the door open for us.
I slid into the seat, but the Riddler protested, "What about this cord? I promise I won't run."
"Nice try," Batman said dryly. "Get in."
The Riddler crammed in beside me, and I glared at him, and he glared right back. He wasn't that old, and up close, he looked more like a college student than a man. Bruce leaned in to strap the seatbelt over both of us, clicking it firmly.
"I could have done it," I told him, but Batman just shut our door.
"Move over," the Riddler hissed.
"I'm crammed up against the controls," I retorted. "You've got enough room."
"My arms are tied to my side."
"Well, whose fault is that? You had to blow up the bank."
"I was making a point," the Riddler insisted.
"Yeah," I said sarcastically, "that you're a dumbass."
Batman's door opened, and he got into his seat and shut his door. He looked at the both of us for a long while, his lips pressed together in disapproval.
"Can we go already?" I finally asked. "We're squished in here, and he smells bad."
"I do not," Riddler objected.
He didn't smell at all – well, maybe a little of gunpowder, but I think that was more from the blast. But I was glad to rile him up.
"You do," I wrinkled my nose. "You stink."
"It's Arkham," the Riddler insisted. "They only let you shower for a few minutes, and half the time it's with cold water, and if they think you're going to try to drown yourself, they strap you down to a metal table with holes in it and spray you with the hose. It's awful."
"Then stop acting crazy and trying to drown yourself," I told him though I felt a little sorry for him.
"It's not my fault," he told us. "I never know what they're going to put the medication."
Batman turned to look at him. "They change your medication often?"
"Not just change it," Riddler said fervently. "Sometimes they put stuff in the food. I wake up some mornings and don't know if I'm imagining the clowns dancing around or seeing Joker's henchmen."
"Is Dr. Strange experimenting on inmates again?" Batman asked.
"Again?" Riddle laughed shortly. "He never stopped. I see these huge loads of drugs coming in, being carried back to his labs, and I know sooner or later he'll drag us back and shoot us up with that crap."
"Watch your language," Batman warned. "Has Strange . . . experimented on you?"
The Riddler nodded, swallowing hard. "Twice. I was freaking out. It was worse than any fear toxin I've ever taken, and believe me I've tried some stuff. He had me strapped down on a gurney, face down. But there was this hole thing for your face, so I was scaring down at the floor, and he injected the drugs into my ass – er, rear, and I started freaking out. I was screaming and begging – I thought my head would explode and my body was on fire, and he kept sticking those needles into me and giving me more and more –"
"That's enough," Batman said quietly, glancing quickly at me. "I'll be taking care of Strange later."
He turned the car on, shifted into gear, and sped onto the road.
The Riddler was sniffing, and unable to free his hands, he kept lifting his shoulders to rub his face.
"It's going to be okay, Edward," Batman said calmly.
I forgot that the Riddler had a real name, and it sounded odd for Batman to use it. I felt bad for the Riddler, but annoyed that he was trying to get sympathy from Batman. Bruce never felt sorry for me losing my parents, but he felt sorry for this criminal who broke the law. So unfair.
"Oh, stuff a sock in it," I told the Riddler. "You're in Arkham for a reason – you keep doing crimes and bad stuff. And pretending to cry is not going to distract us from the fact that you blew up the front of the bank. You're just trying to show off – wanting us to notice you, pay attention, spend time with you when other people are in trouble and need our help."
The Batmobile jerked to a stop by the curb so hard the seatbelt bit into my shoulder. I cringed, afraid Batman would start yelling at me, but he turned ominously to the Riddler.
"All right," Batman's voice was ever sterner, "who are you covering for, Riddler?"
"What?" the Riddler's voice was high-pitched. "What makes you think –"
"You're covering for someone," Batman cut him off. "You usually try to trap me in some elaborate riddle, and you only appear at the end, once I've won, for me to knock you out and drag you back to Arkham. Tonight, you have guards and dynamite tied to a pillar and you were waiting them out in the open – who are you working with? Who are you covering for?"
"No one!" Riddler's voice was as high as a girl's.
"Edward Nigma," Batman looked straight at the squirming criminal, "you will tell me right now or I will make this very uncomfortable for you."
"You won't do that," Riddler began to panic. "You're supposed to the hero of this town. You have rules."
"I have one rule," Batman growled. "I do not kill. But anything short of that, including beating you to a pulp, is allowed. Last chance, Riddler."
"I know n-nothing," Riddler stammered.
Batman let his breath out heavily, and then he reached for the door.
"What are you going to do?" Riddler cried out.
Batman kept his hand on the door as he answered, "I'm going to pull you out and lay you over the Batmobile. And then I'm going to take one of my clubs and beat you for a while. We'll see how long you can last. I've been told I have very strong arms."
"You wouldn't," Riddler whimpered.
I wanted to laugh at his fear, but I knew Batman was playing him, so I shrank back in my seat and tried to look like I was really scared of what might happened because it had happened before. I didn't think Riddler would buy it, but Batman reach to the back pulled out a thick stick. It was something Batman used that pulled out into a long pole for vaulting and jumping really high, but the way it was, it looked like a really, really heavy club.
"I'll try not to damage your kidneys," Batman opened the door.
"I'll talk!" the Riddler wailed.
I rolled my eyes, but Batman slammed his door. "Names right now."
"It's Crane," the Riddler gasped. "Scarecrow, you know."
"He got out of Arkham a month ago," Batman nodded.
"I know, he came back to visit me in Arkham," Riddler gulped. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. "He – he told me he was hijacking mob money. I was supposed to keep you busy while he did the job, and I would have done it except he," here he glared at me, "kept talking and confused me."
"So you were a red herring," Batman frowned. "A decoy to keep me busy while Crane did the real job and took the money. What did Crane promise you? A cut?"
"He promised me half," the Riddler said. "He got his guys to break me out of Arkham, and we were going to meet up later for him to give me my share."
"And you actually thought he was going to keep his promise?"
"Why not?" the Riddler's jaw tightened. "We're friends. Crane wouldn't double-cross me."
"Crane would double cross his own mother if he thought it would work to his advantage," Batman shot back. "The moment you show up, he's going to give you a face-full of nerve gas and leave you shaking on the ground."
"He would not," the Riddler insisted. "Crane would never do that, not to me."
Batman looked steadily at him, and the Riddler finally glanced down, defeated, but knowing Batman was right.
"That betraying, slimy motherfu-"
"Edward," Batman barked out as he started the Batmobile again, "watch yourself. There are children here."
"He's old enough to fight crime on the dark streets of Gotham, but not hear me swear?" the Riddler demanded. "What kind of a mentor are you? Come on, man, who are you really? Just tell me – I promise I won't tell them."
"Tell who?" Batman pulled the car forward.
"The doctors at Arkham. They really want to get to know the man behind the mask. But I'll keep the secret."
"Where is Crane?" Batman asked.
"I'll give you a clue. It's a place that's celebrated but once every thousand years though it offers to save for you every day, and –"
"More riddles?" I snorted. I though I had been really good and quiet up to this point. And the fact that I had helped Batman figure out what was going on, surely that was enough to get me off the hook. But I could not listen to the Riddler run his mouth again. "Do you ever stop? No wonder you don't have any friends."
The Riddler looked murderous, and then he rammed his shoulder into me.
"Hey!" I shouted, and I shoved back at him.
We pushed for about ten seconds until Batman slapped my thigh . . . hard.
"Ow," I jerked to a stop.
"Ha-ha," the Riddler jeered. "Look who got smacked."
I jammed my elbow into his thin stomach, and we were back at it again.
Batman swatted my leg again and then reached over to swat the Riddler's as well.
"Ow!" Riddler hissed. "What did you hit me for? I'm not your sidekick."
"You two behave, or I'll take a club to both of you."
"He beats you?" the Riddler looked at me in horror.
"He doesn't beat me – he just –" I dropped off abruptly, flushing.
"What, he spanks you?" Riddler sneered. I didn't know where to look, but the Riddler leaned back against the seat bitterly. "It figures."
"What figures?" Batman asked.
"I don't want to talk about it. Did you work out my riddle?"
"Yes, the Millennium Bank. What figures out?"
"That you would be the perfect father to him as well as the perfect guardian of a city," the Riddler sneered.
"He's not the perfect father," I blurted out.
Batman stiffened, but the Riddler turned to me.
"Does he come home drunk and beat up on you? Does he call you weak and pathetic because you wanted to go for the chess team instead of football? Is he going to kick you out the moment you turn eighteen because he can't stand the sight of your ugly face any longer?"
I looked at him and then glanced at Batman. But he said nothing.
"If not, then I think he's about as close to a perfect father as you're going to get," the Riddler told me. "So if he swats you a few times, be glad he doesn't use his fists just to teach you how to be a man."
"That's enough," Batman decided. "Here's the bank. I'll be right back."
"We can't come?" I protested. "I want to get the Scarecrow."
"And I want to pound his face into the cement," the Riddler snarled.
"Too dangerous," Batman told us. "There will be fear toxin, and I only have one face mask. I'm going to look for now. No fighting while I'm gone."
"You're his father – not mine," the Riddler retorted.
"One more word out of you, and I'll be more a father to you than you ever thought possible," Batman swung out of the car and shut the door.
I watched him run towards the bank, and then the Riddler started squirming again.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
"Trying to get free," the Riddler told me. "I don't want to go back to Arkham."
"Then stop doing bad stuff," I rolled my eyes again.
"Is it that easy? Just don't do it because you might get caught? Does the thought of punishment keep you from doing something bad?"
As much as I hated it, he had a point. And that made me even madder. I could have helped him get free, but I wouldn't even unbuckle the seatbelt as he twisted and tried to bite at the cord to free himself.
He finally got one end a little loose, but I reached up and pulled the cord tight and twisted it underneath the rest of the cord where he couldn't reach.
"Sorry," I smirked. "That was getting a little loose."
"I swear, I will make you pay."
"Whatever. Stop moving. Man, I have to go." It was true – I had gone before we left, but the rest of the coffee was wearing on me and I wished patrolling came with bathroom breaks.
"Really?" the Riddler looked devilish. "Then just think of long, pouring waterfalls, and streams trickling down into lakes, and fountains gushing –"
"You do realize that if I pee it's getting all over you too?"
The Riddler shut his mouth and turned to look out the window. He managed to stay quiet for a minute before he huffed,
"What's taking so long? Beat Crane up and let's get out of here."
"These things take time."
"Really?"
"I don't know – that's what Batman always says. He wants us to go into things slow and easy. I'd rather jump into the fight. He makes me practice fighting for hours only so I won't have to do it for real."
"Adults, huh?" the Riddle shook his head. "They never make any sense."
"You're an adult," I pointed out.
"Hardly. People say I still look like a teenager. No one treats me with any respect at Arkham either. Not the doctors or the patients. I'm the smartest person there – you think they would treat me better, but someone's always picking on me."
"Life sucks sometimes," I agreed.
"At least you have him," the Riddler nodded in the direction where Batman had disappeared. "I mean, you get into real trouble, and he'll come save you. Must be nice to know there is one person you can always trust."
"I'm not letting you free," I told him bluntly, unmoved by his sob stories. "Even if I wanted to, he locked us in. It would take a bomb to get us out of here."
The words were barely out of my mouth when a huge explosion lit up the darkness. It was ten times bigger than the dynamite the Riddler had used.
I almost lost it in the Batmobile, and I mean really lost it, bladder, control of my body, wanting to scream for Batman. If he blew up in the explosion –
I unbuckled the seatbelt and reached down to push the special button that Batman had shown me for emergencies, when I had to get out of the car. I heard the doors unlock and I reached over the Riddler to push the door open.
The moment it was free, I shoved him hard. He tumbled out with a cry and hit the pavement. I leapt out, stepping on him as I went, but I paid no attention to his squalls as I began running towards the billowing smoke.
I needed Batman – I needed to know that he was still alive. And if anything, anything at all, had happened to him, I would destroy Crane with my bare hands. I wanted the Scarecrow's blood; I planned to tear him apart and listen to his pleas as I did it.
As I ran, I heard my voice screaming out for Batman, but inside my head, I was calling for Bruce.