CHAPTER 53:
"Cold Revenge"

Barbara Gordon screamed for Jake Handles to stop!

She struggled against Riddler's grip, but neither he nor Handles would relent.

Dick was defenceless with his arms handcuffed behind his back, his face smeared with crimson red, his clothes saturated in his own blood. He was on his knees and his shoulders were pressed down by one of Riddler's men. It had only been a minute since Handles had started pummelling Dick when it was requested someone to hold him down for Handles to continue with both fists.

It was a cold, abhorrent revenge. Nygma mentally warranted that Handles at least let the man defend himself.

"Stop it! Stop it! You'll kill him!" Barbara shouted. Her eyes were streaming with tears and Nygma had to hold her tight. He held onto both her forearms. Nygma was much stronger than he looked. "He only recently had brain surgery! He's still in recovery!"

"He's obviously a very fast healer," Handles remarked, swinging, and delivering a right cross to Dick's face. Dick recoiled, spitting out blood. "A normal man would spend months recuperating from such an injury." Handles punched Dick with a hard left fist. "But, of course, he is from strong stock. I do admire him for that much, at least. Circus folk normally are enigmatic."

Dick Grayson couldn't defend himself, and every time he tried, even attempt to move his legs and to bring up in defence, they were kicked out from underneath him. He tried again, but Jake Handles jabbed Dick in the ribs and winded him. He continued with an onslaught of punching Dick's face with punch after calamitous punch.

"Stop it, please!" Barbara begged.

Nygma was merely an observer to the brutality, but even he was disgusted by its display. He was a scholar, not a brute. When schoolmates in his younger years chatted about their heroes, boxing and wrestling were popular at the time. Sports were not his forte. His heroes were the characters he read in books; stories that made the reader think.

He had a nickname in school: "Bookworm", because he always had his nose in a book. He loved to read and he derived his strength through knowledge which he later forged into a formable criminal career. He thought about pseudonyms when he began his career. Bookworm was taken. But since he was more fascinated by riddles and puzzles, so opted for his current non-de-plume instead.

The deeper answer of why Jake Handles hated Dick Grayson still eluded him. What history was shared between them deserved evaluation, but he wasn't going to allow this barbarism to continue. And murder was beyond his current repertoire.

"Mr. Handles," Nygma said, emphasizing his partner's name, "that is quite enough! Whatever point you are trying to make, I believe it has been achieved, albeit through this presbyterian, old school punishment. You have bloodied young Richard Grayson's face to the point of being unrecognizable, and he may need reconstructive surgery. This, on top of his accident, may hence cause him to have a relapse in his most recent bout of amnesia. Cease and desist immediately!"

Nygma wondered how that sounded to Handles. Had that sounded weak? Was he going soft?

Jake Handles straightened and flexed his bloodied knuckles. He flicked his left hand to ease the hurt. His right hand was artificial, so no pain came from striking bone. Riddler's man released Dick Grayson and he dropped to the floor unconscious. Nygma figured the poor lad had probably already succumbed the darkness far before this moment.

Barbara Gordon pulled against Nygma's grip and he released her without restraint. She ran to Dick Grayson and cradled him in her arms, repeatedly calling his name to wake him. He was obviously lost and unconscious.

Reaching into his jacket, Nygma pulled out a light green pocket handkerchief and handed it to Handles to wipe his hands. Handles took it and did so. But the moment Nygma saw the blood stained fabric, he told the man to keep it, disgusted by the sight. Besides, he knew blood was one of the worse substances to get out of silk.

Handles did not say thank you. Instead, he looked down at Dick Grayson, and said, "Payment rendered, I'm satisfied." He then told Riddler's man to take Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon away and put them someplace secure. "Take them to the Ballroom," he then said. "It will give an example to whomever wishes to be a hero. And while you're there, as well, check on young Damian Wayne. Make sure he's very comfortable in his handcuffs. I don't trust that kid as far as came throw him."

Riddler's man gave Nygma a small glance as if to receive permission to follow Handles' orders. Riddler nodded, giving the man the silent order, along with an additional quiet directive with a twitch of the mouth. Riddler had secret singles for his men just in case speaking wasn't an option. The man understood. Along with him, another man followed, carrying a rifle, just in case there was any trouble.

Barbara Gordon protested, demanding Dick get immediate medical help. But it was denied. The Wayne family had a history if defiance, so Nygma wanted to be sure the pair got to their destination without incident and two men will suffice.

"He'll get the medicine care he needs at his final destination, Mr. Gordon," Nygma then said, pulling out a personal cell phone. "I'll message ahead. I always have a medical person on hand just in case of unforeseen circumstances. He is in he Ballroom."

Barbara somewhat thanked him.

Then they left, and the villainous pair stood aside the other in the den. The mutterings of those who witnessed the horrid display were heard in the background of Nygma's hearing, but he ignored their fearful noises.

Nygma looked at the blood that covered the floor at his feet. He took a step back as it began to spread outward. He then turned and gave Jake Handles an unpleasant stare. "Was that really necessary? You still haven't told me why you hate Richard Grayson so much? You were comrades-in-arms in an organization named Spyral, yes. But what did he do to you to evoke that?"

Handles crumpled Riddler's handkerchief in his artificial right hand and squeezed it tight. He didn't cover his metal hand with a glove and showed it off as it was a war wound proudly. He returned Nygma's unpleasant stare. "I heard your riddle to Grayson, the answer is the same," he said cryptically. "What happened between myself and Dick Grayson has fuelled me all these years. My arm is living proof of this and it is the only part of my disguise that remains exposed from my palpable appearance, I designed it that way. I've wanted revenge for such a long time, and now, I have it. He will not recover from this. The end game is finally mine!"

Handles felt the left side of his face, seemingly ruminating about something introspectively. He had a small spatter of blood on his cheek, he no doubt had gotten it when he kept hitting Dick Grayson.

To Riddler, it gave the appearance of an Indian Warrior's badge one received after a large kill. But after what Nygma had seen, it was disgraceful and dishonourable. Nygma considered a real warrior destroys his enemy with wit and cunning, not with brutality.

"Why not just put a bullet in his head? If he is that much of a threat to you, then just kill him." But Riddler knew the idea would only to antagonize Jake Handles after what he had attempted prior with the assassination plot. He smirked. He found it amusing. "But you favour him for his abilities, don't you? Spyral comrades of a feather, but he was your better. Envy is a harsh mistress. Despite your history, you can't kill him outright. He's too good for that. You tried to take away his most prize possession: his self-identity. Kill him from the inside. I understand now why you chose the path you took. However, fate was unkind to your endeavours."

Jake Handles eyed him harshly. It was as if Nygma had said something highly offensive. "Lightning never strikes twice, my astute friend," he said short, then dropped Riddler's handkerchief to the floor at his feet.

Nygma looked down. He watched as the handkerchief fell into the pool of blood and began to soak up more of the red crimson, adding to its already present amount blood from Handles hands, until the light green of the fabric became a dark purple.

Handles then walked away.

Riddler stared at the handkerchief for a moment more and then with two fingers, he pinched at an unbloodied spot and picked it up carefully as not to get any on his glove. Ideally, he would not allow such an expensive piece of material to be so haphazardly discarded like trash. He handed the handkerchief to one of his men, after following Handles out into the hall, and told the man to put it in a plastic bag to keep, to clean later, if able. His man nodded and immediately left towards the kitchen to fulfill his instructions.

Jake Handles appeared reflective, stopped, and then turned around to face Nygma. "Edward, I wish to apology for that rather barbaric display back there. My hatred for Dick Grayson is rooted deep..."

Handles then gave Riddler a brief history of his time in Spyral and what Grayson had done to him, telling him about how an explosive device had prematurely gone off, forcing him to recollect himself, and to fuse with an artificial intelligence of his own design in order to survive. Eighty percent of his body had been burned in the explosion and his left leg and right arm had to be amputated and replaced with mechanical replacements. He then called himself Annex, inspired by his new life.

Additionally, he also told Riddler what happened on Treasure Island with Batman and his family.

Once the tale was over, which took less than five minutes with the brief account, some Riddler knew, most he did not, Nygma stood in awe, finally with an understanding of why Handles hated Dick Grayson so much.

Dick Grayson had been a secret agent that called himself Agent 37, and they were both members for this organization that once policed that world. And Dick Grayson was assigned to kill Jake Handles for treason and the murder of countless innocent people, including several Spyral agents and the alike. That aside, the story of Spyral and that on Treasure Island seemed to disconnect from each other by the way Jake Handles told Nygma. And it was obvious he had left something out like an important piece of the puzzle.

Nygma mused. "And the technology you provided us and used here to infiltrate the party came from Spyral?" Handles nodded. Riddler looked at the watch around his right wrist. He was able to disguise himself as a guest and walk amongst the sea of elitists without anyone batting an eye. "Remarkable," he said impressed. "The world still holds many baffling secrets. But why was Dick Grayson recruited? He comes form a family of trapeze-artists, nothing special there. His time as a Bludhaven peace officer still would not warrant such an invite into such a highly illustrious organization unless he was persuaded by uncontrollable forces?"

Handles smiled. "You are partially correct, Edward. Allow me to show you something extraordinary, something so unique and dazzling that it will bewilder you for years to come," he said. "That will fill in the gaps of the story I told you."

"I'm intrigued. Show me."

Just then, Duela Dent walked down the main staircase. Riddler noticed she dressed quite ostentatiously in greens and pinks, like a street-person. He recalled her history briefly. She was once associated with the Joker, calling herself Joker's Daughter. She also claimed other parentage that ultimately proved to be false. Duela Dent even claimed to be his daughter. That was both insulting and laughable. Parentage played a roll in a child's upbringing and he already had a rather unique child of his own genetic aptitude.

She had joined Jake Handles in this venture by chance.

She was psychotic, and returned onto the scene in a blaze of glory after an interlude from the public eye. Media clips showed her shooting up traffic on a busy city street, wearing what looked to be like human skin or a face mask, stretched across her face.
When Jake Handles saw her, he recruited her for a special entrepreneurship to curb what she called her boredom. She hadn't been herself for a time, she explained, but something triggered a need to get back out there, or so Nygma was told.

"Ah, Duela, wonderful to see you. I trust you dealt with wrangling up any and all stragglers?"

Duela Dent smirked. "Oh, I did, indeed." She told Handles what she had done to two men who were getting intimate in a guest room—she didn't provide any names, as if irreverent—and that they would not be bothering them. An exaggeration of sorts, Nygma wagered.

She also said she wished she had a camera to capture the wonderful moment.

Nygma knew the girl was crazy, but putting those guests in such a compromising position was outlandish and unnecessary. But as long as they are out of the way, it was purposeful, he supposed.

"I even snooped around a little while you two were down here and found this gorgeous diamond ring just sitting on a dresser in another guest room," Duela said. "It must be worth a lot!"

She looked at it admiringly, bare-handed, putting it up to the light. It was around the third finger of her left hand. Nygma suggested it may belong to Barbara Gordon. Dick Grayson and she were engaged. The pair were found and apprehended in an upper guest room, perhaps the same one. She must have taken it off for some reason?

"So, what are we doing here? Rob the guests?" Duela smiled big, slipping her glove back on to secure the ring. It appeared it now belonged to her. "Frankly, I'm already so excited about this gig. With Joker in the slammer, I need to taper off some of his pent-up energy and do something. Joker always had the most interesting fun, but this is fun, too!"

"Relieving the guests of trinkets was not my intention for coming here," Handles explained. "I have a loftier goal in mind. This is why I needed the both of you and the man powerful to get to the ultimate prize. A treasure so valuable it's worth its weight in gold."

Nygma was intrigued, but he was also a little bothered.

Recalling the guest list that he had memorized, there were a few people missing from his count—Bruce Wayne being the prominent one, and also Timothy Drake being another, along with his girlfriend Stephane Brown. He was told that the youngest one—Damian Wayne had been hit by the initial gas attack when they stormed the Manor during the takeover. He had been taken to the Ballroom with other guests. But where were the others? They could cause trouble if they were not sought out.

It was fortunate that the family dog had already been secured elsewhere during the event or it may have caused some difficulties.
Handles escorted both Nygma and Duela to the Wayne Study. The minute Nygma stepped inside, he was struck with awe and amazement at just how grandiose and wondrous it was, exhibiting a richness and a love of literature from floor to ceiling, set within an atmosphere of comfort, enlightened perfectly, and arranged to an expert's keen eye for opulence.

He saw Handles and Duela venture over to an old grandfather clock, but his interests laid elsewhere. He sifted through a set of shelves with dozens of rare books, beautifully bound. Suddenly, he found a very subtle title that he had being searching for to add to his own collection for a long time, but he had not been able to find it, especially in such pristine condition.

It was aptly named The Riddler's Daughter, but it had nothing to do with kinship.

It was a story about a wondrous timepiece that history had forgotten, that made its way through the annals of time, and a man's quest to unravel its rare and intriguing secrets. The man called the feminine looking piece his "daughter" because he treated it with such care, that it was like a member of his own wayward family. The story was so masterfully written that Nygma remembered he had actually cried when it ended so sorrowful and tragic. There were only a limited number of copies left in existence.

The author never wrote another book. And it never got the attention it deserved, in Nygma's opinion.

Nygma had read it only once through an acquittance who allowed him to borrow it. But it was such an explosive story, he wanted it for his own and offered to buy it. The man refused, and then, mysteriously, one day, he was assaulted on the street, and robbed of the book—not my Nygma. It was an eighteenth century masterpiece, a rare book indeed, like the very first edition of Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, or the original manuscripts of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Nygma knew knowledge was power, and if a person had the information needed to defeat one's enemy, then brute strength, much like what Jake Handles demonstrated with the much impotent Dick Grayson, victory was easily won without barbarism. However, in Nygma's mind, knowledge came from strife and struggle. A lesson must also be learned for victory to be worthwhile.

So, when Jake Handles told him about his battle with Dick Grayson, he felt little sympathy for the man's cause. Jake Handles had made his own bed and he was forced to lie in it, as the axiom went.

Nygma went through more titles, plucking them out, and piling them on a desk near-by. He would take them when he departed.
"Are you finished rummaging for rarities, Nygma?" came Handles voice. It broke through Nygma's kid-like excitement.

Nygma turned with five books cradled in his arms accompanying his Q-staff. He was trying to balance them all at once. He saw both Handles and Duela standing at the far end of the room near the grandfather clock. He had momentarily lost himself with the books. He put them down with others he wanted on the desk, then cleared his throat to quell his ado.

"Forgive my excitement, I enjoy great literature," he said. "I'm swept back to my childhood whenever I see a book from my youth."
Duela put her hands on her hips and her body swayed slightly to the left in a curious, provocative manner. "You must've been picked on a lot when you were a kid; a regular bookworm, a nerd. How many times were you beaten up?" She smirked.

Nygma took offence to her tone. "More times than I can count, my dear," he said. "How many times have you feared motherhood?"
Duela's eyes widened, and Handles had to hold her back when she tried to rush him. Handles grabbed her tightly.

Nygma smirked amused.

Duela growled under her breath. "Why you! Are you saying I sleep around?" She swore and called him and f'ing pig!

"If the slipper fits, don it," Nygma replied sarcastically with a throat chuckle, denoting the contrariety with the story of Cinderella. Then said: "There is a movement happening around the world where women demand the same respect as men. There is a problem with this movement. Women already have the same rights as men, constitutionally. But there are radicals that claim indifferent, and its women like you who set back Women's Rights, wearing such impetus clothing that entice men. Women have a right to wear what they wish, but a more conservative approach is warranted. I have no doubt that you were able to seduce those two men with your womanly charms, but I'm sure right now that they regret even looking upon you. You may have scarred them for life."

"Yeah, well, they deserved it!"

Handles held onto Duela tightly as she pulled against his grip, she desperately wanted at Nygma for his flippant remarks.

Suddenly, a long dark curtain that draped one of the two large buttress windows in the Study wavered, and all three of them turned to look, forgetting their immediate conflict.

Duela's struggle against Handles momentarily halted, her fight with Nygma put aside. She brushed off Handles' hold and put a finger to her mouth for overall silence. As Nygma noted before, a few guests were missing from the captured list, and someone, unwittingly, may have just given themselves away, hiding behind the curtain.

Duela reached behind her back and pulled out a gun that was tucked into her pants and then tip toed to the window. She originally brought a satchel, but somewhere along the line it had been discarded, no longer needed.

She gave a collective glance to both Handles and Nygma, slowly gripped the curtain. Then she yanked it back with force, gun in hand, pointing it at the someone who was behind it.

Suddenly, a cat jumped out at her and Duela had to restrain herself from spontaneously pulling the trigger, startling her.

The black cat jumped on the desk, spilling and scattering Nygma's collection of books onto the floor. The animal paused, but then dropped down, and ran past Nygma, towards the door. It stopped at the threshold and took a moment to look back. Then it hissed something equivalent to a cat's displeasure, before departing, bolting out into the hallway.

Duela returned the gun back to her pants behind her back.

Nygma then remarked, "It would appear someone was missed in the sweep, Mr. Handles. A black cat crossing your path is a sign of bad luck according to superstitious lore."

"It's just some damn cat!" Duela said. "Don't buy into those stupid things."

"Buying into those stupid things is not the issue, my benighted consort," Nygma said, turning to her. "There is precedence to every superstition throughout history, much like there is a kernel of truth to every exaggerated, inflammatory lie."

Handles sighed. "Pay the animal no mind, Nygma," he said, agreeing with Duela. "The cat won't be a bother to us. My research noted, before this operation commenced, that Damian Wayne had a number of pets, one being a dog and a cat. Oddly enough, he also has a cow and a turkey. All rescued animals."

"Noble," Nygma remarked.

Handles then looked at Duela seriously. He instructed her to find Timothy Drake and Stephane Brown. "They are the only two left that are unaccounted for," he said. "They don't appear in any of the usually places…"

She nodded, and then left the Study.

Nygma asked about Bruce Wayne.

Handles then said that Bruce Wayne was not an issue, despite Nygma counting him on his own list of missing, unaccounted people. He told Nygma that the head of the Wayne family was part of the surprise he was about to show him.

Nygma nodded. "Very well," he said. "You again peak my interest. Show me your grande sorpresa."

To be continued...