Disclaimer: While all but one of the characters in this fic are of my own creation, I do not own the 'verse into which they have intruded.

This is a CATfic (www. freewebs. com/ catverse) taking place immediately after BiteMeTechie's "Riddle Me This." Yes, at last this story comes to be told.

This is for every trucker, mechanic, and dirty old man who ever used my pouring his coffee as an excuse to touch my hand (the safest place to touch a seventeen year old with a dozen overprotective guardians ready to defend her honor while waiting for their turn to make her blush.) This is for every biker who ever asked, "Is he bothering you, Little Mama?" This is for every man who never said, "Thank you," but instead, said, "I'll dance at your wedding." It's for every good cop I've ever known, especially the ones who would have been such good fathers if only they'd had the chance. And most of all it's for a certain little girl who should have had all the time in the world to know how loved she was.

Dear Hollyn,

How's my girl? I have another exciting story for you, and you'll never guess who your old dad tracked down this time.

Remember how Grandma always wanted to take you to Gotham? But she won't do it because she's afraid of the Joker.

No, sweetie, it wasn't him. Someone even better. Not the Joker, not the Penguin—Third Elder, hmm? Yeah, I bet that's got your attention. So, put away your crossword puzzles. It's story time.

What our favorite supervillain was doing this far south, no one really knows. Sure, he spent a little time up in Manchester a few years back, but as far as we can tell, he had no good reason to come down here just to attack a Christmas party. We didn't even find any riddle clues, though I bet the folks up in Gotham did, and just didn't see fit to share. Some mystery, huh? I bet you could solve it in a week if the folks in charge let you join the force.

What we know from interrogating the three known survivors is that there were a pair of women living in that long cabin out on 7th St., who every year throw a big Christmas party for all their friends and "lonely celebrities." I don't know how many celebrities actually show up every year (if you're some kind of movie star, you can just buy a set of friends for the holidays) but it had become a pretty big deal among their crowd.

Those three witnesses were pretty fuzzy on the details, and one of them works for the local radio station, and managed to leak the story to the news department before we even had a chance to question him. You can bet I wish I'd started with him first. Before I knew it, the story was everywhere.

I'm sure you've heard all about it by now. The Riddler shows up in T-town, busts up a party, causes a panic, the neighbors see him chasing after the party guests and injecting them with some kind of stuff, four bodies found, fifty-six still missing and presumed dead, including the hostesses, blah, blah, blah. Actually, fifty-six is just a guess, since no one can seem to figure out exactly who was at that party. Not that anyone around here much cares. All they were worried about was catching the guy responsible.

And that's where the fun story really starts.

We got a tip that he'd been spotted trying to hitch a ride out of town going north on 459, so a whole string of us peeled out to head him off.

Charleson was in the lead, but old Eagle-Eyes McKey spotted him first, just a speck of green off in the distance, climbing up into a truck. We tore off down the highway in a flying wedge, lights going, sirens blaring, cars diving out of our way left and right, and that semi lumbered off just as fast as it would go, which is to say, not very. Charleson called out the warning, right and proper, and then took a shot at the back tires. And would you believe, that old trucker stuck his head out the window and yelled at us, "Don't y'all know better than to shoot at a tank full of nitroglycerine?"

Now, sweetie, they ain't supposed to do it, but sometimes these truck drivers transport dangerous materials like that through the cities to save time even when the law says they ought to go the long way around. You can bet we were plenty mad about that, but there was nothing to do but put the guns away and keep on chasing, lights still going, sirens blaring, and every one of us hollering for him to pull over and turn himself in. Somebody had to run out of gas sooner or later, and we were betting it wouldn't be us.

Well, we hadn't counted on Martinez being dumb enough to start out on a high speed pursuit after being too lazy to fill his tank, but there were still five of us left when the truck went under a bridge, coasted out the other side, and coughed its way to the shoulder. We surrounded the thing and got out, every one of us with our guns drawn. The old man put his hands up and came on out. A quick search of the cab told us the Riddler wasn't there. When we asked where he'd went, the old man just pointed up.

It was a pretty good trick, climbing up on top of the truck when we couldn't see him, but it wasn't going to be good enough to save him, no way, no how. We all set our sights on where we figured him to be, and Charleson yelled for him to come on down. When we didn't get no answer, Long started climbing up after him.

Once again, it was McKey that spotted him, and yelled out, "He ain't on the truck, he's on the bridge!"

When I looked up there, I saw him too, trying to hide and cussing like a dog. Pretty soon a Styrofoam cup came sailing down and hit Papogallo in the head. Hot coffee splashed everywhere, and she was so startled she fired a shot right into the tank of nitroglycerin.

We were none to happy about that, I can tell you! We all hit the dirt, except for the old man. He just started laughing and said, "Nothing's fixing to explode. I'm just toting corn."

"Then why the hell did you tell us it was nitro?" yells Papogallo, madder than a wet hen.

"Well, ma'am, when the fellow with the gun yells at you to get rid of the police, you don't argue, you just do what he says."

Now, it only struck me later that if the Riddler had a gun, he would of shot at us instead of throwing coffee. Maybe he was out of bullets, or maybe the old man only thought there was a gun, or maybe it was just another lie, but at the time we all assumed that the suspect was armed. We could see him trying to get away on foot, so we got back in our squad cars, all but Papogallo. We left her to deal with the old man.

Hey, have you ever heard of the Good Humor Mangler, who knocked off his victims using cherry popsicles sharpened to a point? Serious question. See, right after we left, a stolen ice cream truck plowed right into Officer Papogallo and knocked her silly. The driver made her comfortable, called an ambulance, and then took off in the police car with the old man still inside. When the paramedics arrived on the scene, they found the truck completely empty, except for the real owner, tied up and tripped to his underwear, and a single plastic wrapper stained with cherry syrup.

This case just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?

But, back to the chase. We had him cornered, me and Long coming up behind him, Charleson and McKey taking a shortcut to cut off his escape. It sure was good to know we was going to catch him before we crossed the state line and had to make a lot of extra work for the paper pushers. It might not have been strictly by the book to go chasing him halfway across the state without calling in some backup, and if he slipped on over into Tennessee, there wasn't no way we could get away with keeping this thing in the family, so to speak.

Now, what does Long do but decide to go shooting off his gun again. A warning shot, he says. I guess you can't get much more "warned" than to have a hole through your head. It's just lucky for Mr. Riddler that Long can't shoot and drive at the same time. I warned him not to be so stupid, but he just didn't listen. Bang bang, he got the suspect in the foot, and then took out Charleson's left front tire. Charleson went sweeping over sideways, knocked Eagle-Eyes right into a tree, and flipped in midair, right over the Riddler's head. That is one lucky man. But I guess the fact that he was lying in the grass, holding his foot, might have had something to do with it.

I thought fast enough to slam on the brakes before he could hit me. Long was too busy emptying his clip to pay attention to what was going on around him. Bam! Crash! Right through his windshield it went.

You know, I've been saying for years that guy was going to get himself killed doing something stupid, and the rest of us with him. If you still want to be a cop, sweetie, you've got to promise me you won't go acting like that. You'll be smarter. Hey, you already are.

When everything settled, I could see Long moving around, trying to get out of the car. It's true what they say, God looks after drunks and fools. The big surprise when I got over there, though, was that Charleson was all in one piece, too. I made sure of that, and then I gave Long a piece of my mind. Would have been a piece of my fist if he hadn't been so banged up already.

I got a little carried away. You've got to keep your mind on what's going on around you. Never forget that. I didn't think the Riddler would be going anywhere with his boot leaking blood. It's my fault for not watching him. One minute I'm bawling out the idiot, next thing I know McKey's lying on the ground and his car's bouncing off across the empty field.

Of course I chased him. I was the only one left to do it. McKey's car was dinged up, but it was still running fine. He zipped off across the grass, and I zipped off after him. Don't know why he didn't stick to the road, but I went after him. That was some wild ride, and it ended at the train tracks.

The train was coming, barreling along, not stopping for anybody. Riddler really put on the gas. If he could get to the other side of the tracks before the train passed, and leave me stuck behind, he was home free. Of course, if he got it wrong he'd be smashed flatter than a pancake. I can't blame him for flinching. He whipped off at an angle at the very last minute, running alongside the train instead of crossing in front of it. I kept on following after, and finally rammed the back of the car. It veered off, and I could see what I couldn't before: there was nobody in the driver's seat.

He is a smart one, isn't he? Put something heavy on the gas pedal and hop over onto the train, hoping I wouldn't know the difference until too late. It could have worked. Didn't, but it could have.

This was a freight train, no passengers, plenty of places to hide. I knew I couldn't afford to lose him, so I followed him over, quick as I could. You wouldn't believe the paperwork I had to do for wrecking the car.

I spotted him scrambling up to the top of the coal car, so I followed him up. When I got to the top, he was just disappearing down the hatch. It couldn't have been more perfect. The empty car might have made a good hiding place, but there was no way out. I had him cornered.

Here's another thing to remember when you become a cop: don't get cocky. Jumping down a dark hole after a suspect without looking first is never a good idea.

The car wasn't as empty as I expected. My feet hit coal, I went sliding off the side of the pile, hit my head on the steel wall, and bam. Out like a light.

I was lying there for a while. When I woke up in the dark, if he hadn't made any noise, I would have figured he'd gotten away. Lucky for me, the coal dust was thick and he couldn't stop himself from coughing when I kicked it up. I followed the sounds until I found him half buried in the coal. Don't know how he ended up like that, but he wasn't getting out of it.

"Well, good morning, Snow White," he said to me, all sullen. "You wouldn't mind helping me out of here, would you?"

I told him I'd be happy to help him to the nearest police station. He wasn't happy about it, but he knew he was caught.

I figured it was safer to leave him buried until the train stopped, so I climbed up to get a look at where we were.

It was snowing out there, and cold. There was blood trickling down my forehead. Hair as black as coal, skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, you remember that story? We were in farm country, nothing around but fields and some trees. Snow was all over the ground, and the night was quiet. I could figure we wouldn't be stopping soon, so I jumped back down. Scattered more coal around when I hit it, and set the Riddler off coughing again. I got myself back to him and found him more covered over than before. He was plenty mad about that, you can bet.

He hollered at me to get him out of there, and after about an hour of coughing and whining and riddles I couldn't answer, I couldn't take it anymore, so I dug him out. I figured he wouldn't be going nowhere, and for a while he didn't. I got him handcuffed, and I had my gun. I didn't guess I had anything to worry about.

Well, you know where thinking can get you sometimes. It's not like he overpowered me and took my gun or anything like that, though. Actually, I thought everything was going according to plan. It wasn't too long before the train come to a stop and I heard a lady cop yelling for the Riddler to come on out with his hands up. I went out first to try and explain things. Then I pulled him up after me.

Something didn't seem right. There was only the one car, parked there in the snow. And only the one cop, standing there wearing her uniform like she'd never had it on before. But I was tired, and ready for the day to end. It didn't matter that there was nothing around, no buildings, no people, no reason for her to have come along and stopped the train. I didn't recognize Papogallo's car and badge.

I turned the Riddler over to the lady cop. He was such a mess, I didn't think I had to worry about whether or not she'd be able to handle him. I did notice a whole lot of ice cream lying on the seat when she was putting him in the car, and that set off the alarms.

When I pulled my gun, the fake cop pushed the Riddler away and ran at me. I fired off a shot, got her shoulder, but she kept on coming.

Don't ever let anybody tell you girls can't fight. She plowed into me just like a linebacker and knocked me flat. Next thing I know, there's two more of them, and the one in the ice cream truck uniform is pointing my own gun at me.

The ground was harder than my head, and I figured that was why I heard the buzzing in my ears. Wrong again! They say those girls, Quiz, Query, and Echo, were bikers before they worked for the Riddler. I guess it's true. Anyway, there were a lot of motorcycles around us just then. They circled, picked up the four criminals, and rode off, and I happened to notice the Riddler looked as surprised as I was.

Maybe I should have just let them go. I was outnumbered, and I had already done my best. But you know me. I couldn't do it.

Lucky for me, there was an Amish fellow coming up the road behind me. I commandeered his horse and buggy and took off after the biker gang.

That was some chase, I can tell you. Probably best not to dwell on it. They were pulling well ahead of me, but I could still see the stragglers when I came even with the cemetery and saw a flash of green inside the gates.

Best I could figure, they'd left him behind for safekeeping and gone on to lead me away from their boss. You can bet I wasn't fixing to let that happen. I bailed out and ran after the green.

He gave me such a chase through the cemetery, back and forth, around tombstones, behind trees. Once or twice he almost gave me the slip, but I'd made up my mind not to let him get away. I finally took him down. Tackled him and laid him out across a grave.

For a second there, all I saw was how much like a dead body he looked with his head back against the tombstone. It was black, with a design like curtains framing his head. Some picture.

And guess what! It wasn't the Riddler. He was wearing the Riddler's hat and green jacket, but it wasn't the guy. And boy was he laughing at me.

By the time I got back to the road, the real Riddler was long gone. So much for being a hero. I'm in a lot of trouble right now, if you really want to know.

But you know what? I figure I can't get in any more trouble just for getting my little girl a hat like I know she's always wanted. They should have kept a closer watch on the evidence anyway, right?

Merry Christmas, my little riddler.

Love,
Dad