CHAPTER 9
ROBIN'S JOURNAL
The next morning I came down to breakfast planning to make Bruce tell me what was going on. He was just finishing his toast when I got there. I sat down and Alfred brought me my cereal (Croakies! My favorite). I took a spoonful and had to remind myself that Bruce doesn't bite. Not much, anyway.
"Bruce?" I asked. He put down his newspaper.
"Yes, Dick?" He looked like he was in a good mood. Okay...
"Bruce, we're partners, aren't we? I mean, Batman and Robin?" I asked.
He looked concerned for a moment, then answered. "Yes, of course we are. What's wrong?"
"You shutting me out of that case you're working on," I said. "If I'm really your partner, I need to know what's going on. You don't need to protect me this much, Bruce. I can handle it, whatever it is," I said, hoping he would understand.
He frowned. "I said it last night, Dick. You aren't going to work this case. I don't want you involved; it's too dangerous for you."
"But Bruce, my job is to make sure you get home safely. How can I watch your back if you won't let me?" Didn't Bruce understand yet? I had to be there to keep him safe. If I wasn't there, somebody could kill him and I'd lose him.
Bruce stood up and brushed the crumbs off his jacket. "No. The answer is still 'no', Dick," he said firmly. "Now, shouldn't you be going to school?"
"Yes sir," I said and finished my bowl of cereal. Walking out to the car with Alfie, I could feel myself just beginning to boil. I got madder and madder until I could almost explode. I sat down in the limo and buckled myself in, then looked out the window, fuming.
"You shouldn't take this so hard, Master Dick," Alfred said from the driver's seat. "Master Bruce has your best interests at heart."
"I know he worries," I said. "But I worry too! He needs me out there, or why am I even bothering with all the training? What good is Robin if I'm stuck at home or in the cave all the time?"
"Master Bruce lost those he loved most when he was very young," Alfred said gently. "You must understand that he won't allow that to happen again."
"I know," I replied. "And Bruce knows I understand that. And if he needs to protect me, why can't he understand that I need to keep him safe too? I need to be out there. He's gotta stop shutting me out, Alfie!" I looked back out the window. "Unless he thinks I'm not good enough..."
"You are doing fine, Young Master. I haven't heard Master Bruce complain about your skills, but this is something that he feels he alone must do." Alfred turned into the school parking lot.
"That's all very well, Alf," I opened the car door and leaned into Alfred's window. "But I'm still mad at him."
I could hear Alfred sigh as I turned away to go into the building. Oh yeah, I was mad all right. Bruce wasn't gonna shut me out. I wasn't going to let him!
BRUCE'S JOURNAL
Commissioner Gordon called this morning, as expected, to warn me about Richie Loyd's presence in Gotham. He offered to assign a police officer to me for the duration, but, with difficulty I talked him out of it.
"Really Bruce, I must insist," Gordon said with irritation in his voice. "You remember what happened the last time. You, and especially Dick are in danger from this man."
"Jim, we have the very best security that money can buy here," I replied in Bruce Wayne's most idiotic tones. "We're perfectly safe, I assure you."
"Well, on your own head be it," Gordon grumped at me and ended the call. I put down the phone with mixed feelings. Of course, a cop stationed at Wayne Manor is a no-go from the very start, but I do have some concerns for Dick. "Maybe I should keep Dick home from school until Loyd is caught..." I murmured to myself.
"Oh no, sir," Alfred said, removing my used coffee cup from the desk. "I wouldn't recommend that at all."
"Why not?" I remembered what Richie had done to Dick the last time, almost killing the boy with a hidden insulin overdose. I wanted my new son tucked away someplace safe, where Loyd could never get at him.
"Sir," Alfred moved the cup on his tray a bit. "You've already benched the boy without telling him why and he's quite upset about it. Now, if you tell him that he may not attend his regular activities, he will be convinced that he is somehow at fault. Being punished, as it were. At the very least, you must tell him about Loyd."
I could feel my face harden. "No. I don't want him to worry about Loyd at all. He's only just started to sleep normally after we got him back from Loyd's 'custody'. I won't frighten him."
"It may be, Master Bruce, that the lad is made of sterner stuff than you believe. He deserves to know the entire situation, certainly if you plan to make him a true partner in your nighttime endeavors."
"No," I repeated firmly. "Dick isn't going to be involved in any of this." I considered for a long moment. "All right, he can keep to his normal routine unless I suspect direct danger from Loyd, but...Is his location beeper still active?"
"Yes sir," Alfred replied. "It is embedded in his shoes as you instructed." Alfred gave me a disappointed look. "And, may I ask that you take care yourself, sir? It would be a bad thing if young Richard was orphaned a second time in as many years."
"It's for Dick's safety that I'm doing this, Alfred," I replied, checking my watch. "I'd better get going or I'll be late for the Foundation luncheon."
"Indeed, sir. I'll warm up the limousine," Alfred said.
"No, it's all right. I'll take the Jag today," I replied. "It hasn't been out of the garage in a while. I'll see you tonight," I said and gave him a brisk wave as I went down the staircase. Alfred prefers British cars, which explains the stable of Jaguars and Rolls Royces that occupy my garage. Still, the little blue Jaguar is a favorite of mine and Alfred keeps it in perfect tune. The charity luncheon was expected to raise significant funds for the Wayne Foundation's children's summer camp this year. For lots of Gotham kids, it's the only time they'll ever see forests or lakes instead of pavement.
It was with this thought in mind that I noted the red van that pulled in behind me. It matched speed with me, staying firmly one and a half car lengths behind me. I could see one man driving, wearing a ski cap pulled down partially over his face. I wasn't overly concerned until a second van turned off a side road in front of me, blocking me in.
We were on a country road without shoulders, one of the penalties of living so far outside Gotham City limits. My car wasn't armored. Part of it was sentiment at destroying such a classic vehicle with modern improvements. The other part? Trying to keep my bat-life separate from Bruce Wayne's, I had opted not to scatter bat-gadgets throughout my automotive fleet.
I began to look for somewhere, anywhere to turn off. My Jaguar E-Type S2, alas was a convertible and not retrofitted with a roll bar. If they rolled me, I was dead or paralyzed for life. I was considering my options, when I heard a loud *bang*. I felt the car jerk forward as the van hit me from behind, followed by a second impact when I hit the van in front. They had me. And the worst of it was that I couldn't pull any Batman-style acrobatics because it would endanger my identity. I had to be Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Hang the effect it would have on me, if my identity were known Robin would be an instant target.
ROBIN'S JOURNAL
Just after lunch, I was dozing through my American history class. Okay, I like history, I'm just not that interested in the history of machinery and we were studying the railroads. If we had been talking about people, that would be different. Anyway, some guy from campus security came in and said something to Mr. Turner, my history teacher. He looked kinda sick and nodded his head at the guy who'd come in.
"Richard Grayson, you are wanted in the Principal's office," he said, giving me a kind look. "Mr. Jenkins will escort you there."
"Hey, Grayson! You did it now!" Toby, one of my friends shouted from the back. Babs gave a loud whistle. My whole class knows that I'm the one who sets up elaborate pranks and practical jokes, so I left the room with a bunch of cat-calls coming from behind me. I frowned and tried to remember every prank I'd pulled over the past two weeks but didn't come up with anything that rated a trip to the Principal's office. Needless to say, this is a part of my life that I don't share with Bruce.
Anyway, Jenkins, who normally stands guard in the downstairs hallway, walked me over to the Principal's office. Our school has lots of rich kids and politicians' kids in it, so we have pretty tight security. I know that Bruce checked it out before he let me go here. Jenkins, or 'tight-ass' as some of the rowdier kids call him, actually looked sympathetic for once. It didn't look like I was being punished for something.
"What's going on?" I asked him as we climbed the stairs.
"You'll find out soon enough, son," he wheezed as we took the main staircase.
He called me 'son'. This was bad. He normally calls us things like 'brat' or 'juvenile delinquent' or 'spoiled rich kid'. And he's the guy who comes to get you when there's bad news, like your Mom ran away with the pool-boy or your Dad fell off his polo pony.
Bruce?
I stopped and grabbed his sleeve. "What happened? Is Bruce okay? Tell me!"
He gave me an unvarnished look of sympathy. "I'm sorry, kid. I really am." He ran a hand through his thinning hair and sighed. "Okay, I'll tell ya because there's an ungodly big crowd in that room upstairs and you'd probably like to be told in privacy. Your Guardian, Bruce Wayne..."
"Father!" I corrected him. "He's my adopted Dad, okay? What happened to him. Is he dead?" I held onto my voice and my calm with everything I had.
"Dead? No...no, your Dad isn't dead. At least, we don't think so. Look, Bruce Wayne's car was found off Highway 41, all dented on both ends but he was gone. There was some blood, but not enough to say that he's anything more than injured. Thing is...The Gotham P.D. is on the case and they think he was kidnapped. Gordon is upstairs with the Principal and there's half a dozen cops and...oh...some guy who says he's Wayne's butler. They're waiting to take you somewhere safe, 'cause they figure you're a target too."
"Why?" My voice sounded thin and strained, even to myself. "Why am I a target? I'm just a poor circus kid that Bruce took in?"
"Looks like the kidnapper might be a relative of yours, somebody who was fighting for your custody a while ago?" The security guard looked at his watch. "Anyway, we should be getting upstairs to that office. You okay?"
I knew that my face looked cold and hard, like Bruce's does when he's really mad. My hands were in fists and I knew just whose face I really wanted to punch. One of my relatives, huh? I knew now just what Batman wouldn't tell me and I knew why, too. Good old Cousin Richie was back and he had Bruce. And nothing, but nothing, was gonna stop me from getting Bruce back!