BATMANRETURNS

THEBAT

THECAT

THEPENGUIN

Batman™ versus the criminal element. In Gotham City,™ good and evil never sleep. Today, a new
danger is born—in the guise of a villainous figure with an umbrellaful of savage tricks. He's The
Penguin.™ He's out to dominate the city. And he has a confederate. She's sinuous. She's mysterious.
Andshe'sgotninewaysofevadingdeath.She'sCatwoman.™Thistime,Batmanfacestheshowdown
ofhislifeathighmidnight...

WARNERBOOKSEDITION

Allrightsreserved.Thestories,characters,andincidentsfeaturedinthispublicationareentirelyfictional.Allcharacters,theirdistinctive

likenesses,andallrelatedindiciaaretrademarksofDCComicsInc.

CoverphotocourtesyofWarnerBros.

WarnerBooks,Inc.

1271AvenueoftheAmericas

NewYork,NY10020

ATimeWarnerCompany

PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica

FirstPrinting:July,1992

ISBN:0-446-36303-0

BATMANRETURNS

PROLOGUE

othamCityisn’tsafeanymore.It’scrowded,noisy,dirty,filledwithgarbage.AndI’mnotjusttalking

Styrofoamhamburgerholdersanddiscardedneedlesanddeadlychemicalsthatjusthappentofallinto
theriver;I’mtalkinghumanscum,too.Griftersanddrunksandaddicts,hookersanddealersandpetty
thieves.Guyswhowillmugyouifyoustepintothewrongstreetandshootyouifyoutrytocallfor
help.Andsometimes,thingsaresobusyandcrowdedandnoisythatyoucan’ttellthescumfromthe
restofyourneighbors.

Gotham City isn’t safe anymore. Why can’t somebody clean it up? If only it could be like it was

yesterday, when everybody had bright, smiling faces, and believed in the American Dream and the
value of a dollar. Back in the fifties, when people knew their place and kept their problems to
themselves.

Let’sgobacktothosedays:theearlyfifties,ahappiertime.Let’sgobacktothehappiesttimeofall,
Christmastime.

Ourstoryopensafewmonthsearlier,inabighouseonabigstreet,ownedbybigpeoplewhomust

havebigmoney.Andtheyhavemorethanthattobehappyabouttoday,forthismanandwomanare
havingababy.

Butthere’saproblem.

Father paces back and forth on a landing large enough to house three whole families farther

downtown.Henervouslypuffsonacigarette.Intheotherroom,wehearthemother’slaborpains.The
baby’salmosthere.

Thenthemoansstop.Thereisnothingbutsilence.Amomentpasses,andanewvoicecriesout.But

there’ssomethingaboutthatvoice,somethingaboutthosegoosandgahgahsthatisn’tright.

Thedooropens.Anursestaggersout,herfaceblank,asifwhatshehasjustseenwassohorrendous

thatheremotionscannotyetcomprehendit.Somehow,shemanagestoputonefootinfrontoftheother
andwandersdownthehall.Nextcomesthedoctor,andhisfaceisbonewhite,asifthismanwhohas
witnesseddeathahundredtimeshasfinallyseensomethingworse.

Father can bear it no longer. He rushes by the ashen doctor into the room that holds his wife and

child.

Thereisanothermomentofsilence.Butafterthat,thehouseisfilledwithfather’sscreams.

ButIpromisedyouChristmas,andChristmasitwillbe.Soweskipforwardafewmonths.Thehouseis
alldoneupfortheholidays,noexpensespared,withlightsandtinselandafine,big,decoratedtree.

Theradioison,brightlyplayingthemusicoftheseason,asfatherandmothersharealittleseasonal
cheer.

Andbabyisthere,too,inthatplaypen.Well,maybeitlookslesslikeaplaypenandmorelikeacage,

butbabymustn’tgetintomischief.Babylooksoutatthebrightlightsastheradioplays.

“Heknowswhenyouaresleeping—”

Whatisthatinfrontofthecage?Thatnastyfamilycatisslinkingby,butnotfastenoughforbaby.

“Heknowswhenyou’reawake—”

Onegoodgrab,andthecatisgone.Asinglefelinescream,andthecatwillneverbotherbabyagain.

“Heknowswhenyou’vebeenbadorgood—”

Babychirpswithhappiness.MotherandfatherarecarefultoquicklyfinishtheirChristmascheer,and

maybeevenhavealittlemore.

Butyoucan’thavebabycoopedupforever.

Solaterthatverysamenightmotherandfatherdecidetotakebabyforawalk.It’sabeautifulwinter

night, a few snowflakes, perhaps, but nothing to worry about. If you listen, you can hear Christmas
carolers.Anotherpairofhappyparentswheelacarriagefilledwiththeirtinybundleofjoythroughthe
park,andcallouttomotherandfather.“MerryChristmas!”

Somehow,fatherandmothermanagetosmileastheypass,butthesmilesleavetheirfacesassoonas

otherscannolongerseethem.Theywheeltheircarriagewithagrimpurpose.Butlookattheircarriage,
wouldyou?It’salargewickermonstrosity,withleatherstrapstokeepbabyexactlyinplace.Mostof
all,itlookslikesomethingtokeeppryingeyesawayandthoseweirdnoisesmuffledinside.

On go father and mother, on to that storybook bridge overlooking the babbling stream. Father and

motherlooktotheleftandlooktotheright,butit’slate,andtheyareallalone.Withoutanotherword,
theypickupthecarriagetogetherandtossitfromthebridgeintotheroaringstream.

The carriage falls through the freezing air to land in the rapidly running water, where it is carried

away,throughtheopenparkandtreesandhedgesofthesuburbs,downintothebricksandcementand
walls of the city, down to where the stream meets the sewers and goes beneath the great metropolis,
wherethesweetwaterjoinsthemurkofGotham,andthestarsnolongershine.

So the carriage travels on through darkness, surrounded by the foulest of stenches and the cries of

thosethingsthatlivewithoutlight.Buteverytripmusthaveadestination.Soitisthatthecarriagegoes
fromonepipetoanothertoanother,untilatlastthestreamarounditdisgorgesthegreatwheeledcage
beforeagreatislandofice.

Thecarriagewashesuponthaticyshore,andthebabyhearsanoise,andrealizesheisn’talone.For

out of the darkness stride four of the most regal birds you have ever seen, four emperor penguins, to
standguardaroundtheirnewfoundtreasure.

Amostwarmingstory,don’tyouthink?Butithappenedverylongago.Nowthebabyisallgrownup.

GothamCityisn’tsafeanymore.Painanddeathwaitforfartoomanyonthecitystreets.

Trustme.I’mthekindofbirdthatcanmakeithappen.

CHAPTERONE

hristmastimeagain.Ithappenseveryyear.

Buttodaythingsaredifferent.Todaythere’sBatman.There’saproudfathernow,showingasledwith

thatbatonittohiswife.Oops!Havetohidethatpresent,’causeherecomesjunior!

AndfartheroutinGothamCityPlaza,there’sanadorablelittlegirlwhopullsopenherpreciouslittle

purse and pulls out a dollar (a whole dollar!) to give to the Santa Claus collecting for the Salvation
Army. It’s all pretty sweet, isn’t it? People are shopping and caroling and smiling and even skating
downattheicerinksetupfortheseason.

Andlook!Righthereinfrontofusayoungmangivesayoungwomanapoinsettia.Andwhatakiss

shegiveshimback!Christmascheeriseverywhere,isn’tit?Prettygoddamnedsweet.

Don’tworry.Sweetnesscan’tlastforever.Thingswillgetmuchbetterverysoon.

Uh-oh.Here’sthatsnowbunny,thatverywell-endowedyoungladydressedsortoflikeanelf,except

she has a tiara and a banner that reads “ICE PRINCESS.” What a babe. She smiles a truly dazzling
smileasshetalksintohermicrophone.

“CouldIhaveyourattention,GothamCity?”

AndofcourseGothamCity—allthoseshoppersandcarolersandsmilersandkissers—givehertheir

undivided attention. She smiles again, or maybe she never ever stops smiling, and looks over to that
elegantlamppostclock,awonderfulre-creationoftherealthing,andseesthebighandreachaquarter
toseven.

Onceagain,herexcitedvoicechirpsoverthemicrophone:“It’stimefortonight’slightingofthetree!

Howaboutthat?”

She presses a big, multicolored button before her. And what happens next? Why, the whole big

GothamPlazaChristmastreelightsup,ofcourse!Nosurprises.

Atleastnotyet.

“Aah!”thecrowdproclaimsastheywatchthetree.“Oooh!”

Butasurpriseiscomingsoon.

Waitamoment,youask.Who’stellingusallthis?Whoisthisinthedark?Whenhelooksthrough

that sewer grate, does it remind him of some time long ago, when he looked out of the bars of his
playpen at the bright Christmas lights, when he looked out of his wicker carriage at the river that
surroundedhim?

Butbabyisbabynomore.He’sgrownbiggernow,muchbigger,andhe’slearnedathingortwo.For

onething,he’slearnedajauntylittletune.Ifyou’llpermitme,I’llsing:

“Iknowwhenyou’vebeensleeping,Iknowwhenyou’reawake—”

Soon.

CHAPTERTWO

butler’sworkwasneverdone.

AlfreddodgedandwovehiswaythroughtheChristmasshopperswiththeeaseofaseasonedveteran.

Hehadperformedthesesortsoferrandsformorethanfortyyears,firstforThomasWayneandhiswife,
and then, after that couple’s tragic death, for their growing son Bruce. On these last days before the
holidayhewouldfetchtheChristmasgoose,afewnewornamentsforthetree,andperhapssomesmall
presentsforfriendsandacquaintancesofhisemployer.

Atleast,hethought,indoingthishecouldmakelifealittleeasierforMasterBruce.Intheselastfew

months,BruceWaynehadhadcertainotherthingsonhismind.

“Paper!”thenewsboyshoutedasAlfredapproached.“ReadaboutthelatestsightingofthePenguin

creature!Readallaboutit!Missinglinkbetweenmanandbird?Getyourpaper!”

AlfredstudiedtheluridheadlineontheGothamHeraldwithasinglepracticedglance:

PENGUIN:

MANORMYTH

ORSOMETHINGWORSE?

Thenewsboyheldapaperoutinfrontofthebutler.“Paper,mister?”

“Dearboy,”Alfredreplied.“Sometimesitisadiversiontoreadsuchpiffle.”Hefrowneddownatthe

headline.“Mosttimesitisawasteoftime.”

Alfred continued to frown as the newsboy turned away. He could have sworn he saw something

moving down in that sewer grate. No doubt it was nothing more than the reflection of the Christmas
lights.

Itwasalmostasifheexpectedsomethingtobelurkingintheshadows.Alfredchuckled.Ifhedidn’t

watchhimself,he’dgetasbadasMasterBruce.

WhodidtheMayorthinkMaxwas,somekindofordinarycitizen?

MaxShrecktoldhimselftocalmdown.TheMayorhadarrivedhereintheShreckcorporateoffices,

afterall,evenifithadbeenhoursafterhehadbeensummoned.And,Maxremindedhimself,hehadto
bepleasanttothiswindbagpolitician,atleastuntiltheMayorgavehimwhathewanted.

The Mayor nodded out at the view of the Christmas tree, all lit up down in Gotham Plaza. “Well,

here’shoping”—hebeathisfistuponthedesk—“knockwood—Gothammightjusthaveitsfirstmerry
Christmasinagoodlongwhile.”

SoHisHonorwasgrowingsentimental?Maxfigureditwastimetoturnonthecharm.“Ifeelalmost

vulgar,” he said with a nod and a smile, “in this Yuletide context, about mentioning the new power
plant.”Hepausedtopoundhisownfistintohisopenpalm.“Butifwe’regoingtobreakgroundwhen
we’ve got to break ground, I need permits, variances, tax incentives”—he paused again to shrug
apologetically—“thatkindofpeskynonsense.”

TheMayorlookedatMaxasifhehadneverheardofthispowerplant.Which,ofcourse,hehadn’t.

ButMaxShreckneverletadetaillikethatgetinhisway.

“Power plant?” the Mayor objected. “Max, our studies show that Gotham has enough energy to

sustaingrowthintothenextcentu—”

Shreckcuthimoffwithaheartylaugh.“Youranalystsaretalkinggrowthatonepercentperannum.

That’snotgrowth,that’samildswelling.I’mplanningaheadforarevitalizedGothamCity!”Hewaved
at all the pretty lights on the far side of the plate-glass window. “So we can light the whole plaza
without worrying about brownouts.” He turned and frowned critically at the Mayor. “Do you like the
soundofbrownouts?Doyou?”

He glanced away from the politician for the merest of instants as the door to his office opened,

admittinghissonChipandhissecretary,SelinaKyle.Itmustbealmosttime.Hewouldhavetowrap
thisup.

HeopenedalltenofhisfingersbeforetheMayor’sface.“ImagineaGothamCityofthefuturelitup

likeablanketofstars.”Heclosedhisfists,thenopenedandclosedthemagain.“Butblinking,onand
off?”Heshookhishead.“Embarrassinglylowonjuice?Frankly,Icringe,Mr.Mayor.”

Chipmovedquicklybutquietlyacrosstheroomtowardhisfather.Withtherespectheshowedforhis

oldman,you’dhardlysuspectthatthisboywasastarcollegequarterback.ButMaxlikeditthatway,
boththecollegestarandtherespect.Infact,hedemandeditbethatway.

“Dad,”Chipinterruptedasheglancedatthelargedigitalclockonthewall.“Mr.Mayor.It’stimeto

godownstairsandbringjoytothemasses.”

Uh-oh, Shreck thought. His pitch to the Mayor was really running a little bit behind schedule. But

Maxwouldn’tletHisHonoroffthateasily.HefixedtheMayorwithhisbestShrecksmile.

“Sorry,”theMayorreplieddismissivelybeforeMaxcouldaddanotherword.“You’llhavetosubmit

reports,blueprints,andplansthroughtheusualcommittees,throughtheusualchannels.”

Maxalmostlosthissmile.Whodidthistwo-bitpoliticianthinkhewastalkingto?Buthecouldn’tlet

theMayorgonow,notwhenhewassoclose.TherehadtobesomewaytomakeJenkinsseetheerror
ofhisways.

Selina put down a tray bearing a silver coffeepot and a couple of fine china cups. “Um,” she

mentionedsomewhathesitantly,“Ihadasuggestion.Well,actually,moreofjustaquestion—”

Max’s gaze locked upon her, silencing her instantly. He had to be nice to the Mayor; being nice to

Selinawassomethingelsealtogether.Whatdidshethinkshewasdoing,buttingin?Didn’tsheknowa
secretary’splace?

“I’mafraidwehaven’tproperlyhousebrokenMs.Kyle,”heapologizedtotheMayor.Hesmiledas

hewavedatthetray.“Inthepluscolumn,though,shebrewsonehellofacupofcoffee!”

ButhehadtogetawayfromthesesortsofinterruptionsifhewasgoingtogetJenkinsinhiscorner.

MaxpushedtheMayorfromtheofficewithouttouchingthepotorthecups.

Selinalookedafterherdisappearingboss.Whathadshedone?

Corndog!

Chipsmiledather,thekindofsmilethatprobablymeltedcollegecoedsathisfeet.Itwastoobadthe

smilewasasphonyasChip’spart-timejobforhisfather.

“Thanks,” he said, waving gallantly at the coffee tray. “Anyway, it’s not the caffeine that gets us

buzzedaroundhere.It’stheobedience.”

Hefavoredherwithonemoreofhiswinningsmilesbeforeheturnedandstrodeoutafterhisfather.

Shewaiteduntilhewasoutoftheroombeforeshereplied.

“Shutup,Chip.”

Selinastaredatthetraybeforeherforasecond,thenslappedherforeheadwithherpalm.“‘Actually

moreofaquestion.’Youstupidcorndog!”

She wanted to get ahead, show Mr. Shreck that she was really worthy of the title of administrative

assistant. But all she ever did was open her mouth enough so that her foot could fit right in. She had
seenthelookherbosshadgivenher.Afteranoutburstlikehers,shewasluckytostillhaveajob.

“Corndog.”Sheslappedherselfagainforgoodmeasure.“Corndog!”

Couldn’tsheeverdoanythingright?

As soon as Chip had caught up with them, Max took the Mayor down the executive elevator, then
guided him right through the first floor of Shreck’s Department Store, so important to Gotham’s
economy. When Shreck’s prospered, the city prospered, too. The Mayor knew that already, but Max
figureditwouldn’thurttoremindhim.Theyjusthappenedtogooutofthemaindoor,too,rightbythe
large

SHRECK

’

sign,featuringthathappyShreckcatthatallofGothamloved.AllofGotham!Butthe

Mayorshouldknowthat,too.ItwasasymbolofeverythingMaxstoodfor,and,maybe,asignofeven
greaterthingstocome.

Theminutetheysteppedfromthestore,thenewsmediagatheredaround.Flashbulbspoppedintheir

faces, questions were shouted in their ears, TV cameras swiveled to follow their every move; all the
price of fame. Max nodded pleasantly, the Mayor waved, Chip smiled, as all of Gotham gathered
around.

Their entourage walked across the plaza as Max spotted the Salvation Army Santa. What a photo

opportunity!Itwastimeforsomepositiveimagemaking.Maxpausedandreachedforhiswallet.He
passedtwobillstoSanta,andtheoneontopwasafifty.Theflashbulbspoppedmerrily.

TheSalvationArmyguyfrownedashesawthatthesecondbillwasasingle.PrettysmartSanta.It

didn’t matter, though, because the cameras had moved on to follow Max, Chip, and the Mayor. The
SalvationArmySantawasalreadyoldnews.

Hissontuggedathissleeve.“Watchyourstep,Dad.It’sprettygrotesque.”

Maxlookedaheadtotheriverofmeltingsludgethathissonpointedto.Chipwasright.Therewas

someincrediblefilthinthistown.Maxredirectedhisstepstothedrypatchonthefarsideofthesewer
grate.

Maxfrowned.Whenhiseyeshadfollowedthepathofthesludgeintothesewer,healmostthoughthe

sawsomethingdownbelow.Notarat,that’sthesortofthinghe’dexpect.Itwasmuchbiggerthanarat.

No,itlookedmorelikesomebodyholdinganumbrella.

Anumbrella?

Maxshruggedoffthethought.Hewasontopoftheworld.Whatdiditmattertohimwhat—orwho

—livedinthesewerthesedays?

CHAPTERTHREE

orndog.

SelinalookedatthePost-Itnotestackedontohercomputer,remindersthatwouldhelpherfitin,help

hertogetaheadinthecompetitiveworldofShreckIndustries.

“Don’t‘get’jokes,”saidone.Maxdidn’tlikeitwhenshegottooclever.

“Saveitforyourdiary,”readanother.TheupperechelonhereatShreckdidn’twanttohearabouther

problems.Infact,theydidn’twanttohearaboutanythingexceptmakingmoney.

Butnoneofthehalf-dozennotesinfrontofhergotdowntothebasicsofwhyshekeptscrewingup

around here. If she could just get a grip on where she was falling short, if she could simply come up
withthatonegoldenrulesheshouldremembersothatMaxandallhiscronieswouldsmileonhernext
timepromotionscamearound.

ButwhatdidMaxreallywant?

Assoonassheaskedherselfthequestion,Selinaknewtheanswer.Itwassosimple,asingleword.

“Obey.”

SelinawroteitonaPost-Itnoteandstuckitontopoftheothers.

Beyond her window, she could hear the cheering crowd, waiting for Max to give his speech. The

phonerang.Sheletit.Itwassuchabaddayshedidn’twanttotalktoanybodyelse.

She shouldn’t be here, anyway, she should be down below, shouldn’t she? But doing what? She

frowned,sureshewasforgettingsomething.Hereyeswanderedovertothelegalpadbythestill-ringing
phone.

There, on the bright yellow pad, in big block letters, was the word “SPEECH.” Max’s speech. The

speechshehadwritten,andthenneglectedtogivetoMax.

Oh,no.Shewasinforitthistime.

“Darn.”Shehitherselfontheforeheadalloveragain.

Whowasthebiggestcorndogofall?

Maxcouldn’tletitgo.Hewasnotthesortofmantowait.HehadtohavetheMayor’sokay,andhe
wanteditnow.IftheMayorwouldn’tgiveittohimtheeasyway,he’djusthavetotakeitanywayhe
could.

“Ihaveenoughsignatures,”hesaid,stillsmiling,“fromShreckemployeesalone,towarrantarecall

of a Mayor who isn’t doing his job.” He graciously motioned for the Mayor to precede him onto the
dais.“That’snotathreat,”headded.“Justsimplemath.”

ButtheMayorsmiledbackathimashewalkedahead.“Maybe,”hereplied.“Butyoudon’thavean

issue,Max.Nordoyouhaveacandidate.”

MaxfollowedHisHonorupontotheplatform.Bothreceivedanobligatorypeckuponthecheekfrom

theIcePrincessbeforetheytooktheirplaces.Theclockbehindthepodiumreadfiveminutestoseven.
Itwastimetogetthisshowmoving.

Professional that he was, the Mayor grabbed the microphone. “The man who’s given this city so

much is here, to keep giving,” His Honor announced to the masses. “Welcome Gotham’s own Santa
Claus,MaxShreck!”

Max thought the Mayor was pushing it a little bit. Gotham’s own Santa Claus? There was such a

thingasbeingtoosincere.Still,therewasn’tacrowdinallofGothamthattheheadofShreckIndustries
couldn’twinover.

Heopenedhisexecutiveportfolio.Therewasnothinginside.

Chipfrownedoverhisshoulder,that“Istheresomethingwrong,Dad?”lookonhisface.

“Forgot,”hesaidtoChipbetweenextremelyclenchedteeth.

“My,”headded.

“Speech,”heconcluded.

“RemindmetotakeitoutonSelina,”heamendedasanafterthought.

Well,he’dbeeninworsefixesthanthis,andhe’dgetthroughthisone,too.He’djusthavetowingit.

Hisclenchedteethturnedintoamagnanimoussmileashefacedthecrowd.“SantaClaus?’Fraidnot.

I’mjustapoorlittleschmowhogotalittlelucky,andsuemeifIwanttogivealittleback.”

He waved to the pile of brightly wrapped packages between him and his son; the same sort of

worthless trinkets the store gave out every year. He wasn’t even too sure what was in the boxes this
year,exceptthatitcamefromwhateveritemshisstorehadoverstocked.

“I only wish I could hand out more than just expensive baubles,” he continued effusively. “In this

seasonofourSavior’sbirth,IwishIcouldhandoutWorldPeace,andUnconditionalLove,wrappedin
abigbow.”

Maxwantedtogiveeveryoneapresent,wrappedinabigbow?

“Oh,butyoucan,”murmuredthesquatmanbeneaththeumbrella.“Oh,butyouwill.”Heopenedthe

ornatepocketwatchthatheheld;alittlerustedperhaps,butstillelegant.Anditkeptperfecttime.

Time?Itwasoneminutetill.

Timetoclosetheumbrella.

CHAPTERFOUR

lfredmanagedtoskirtthelastfewhappyshoppersasMaxShrecklaunchedintohisspeech.Theman

wasspeakingabsolutedrivel,andthecrowdwasactuallycheeringhimon.Oh,well,thebutlerthought,
it probably had something to do with the spirit of Christmas. He supposed he could be a little more
charitableaswell.Still,hewashappytobeleavingthismadhousebeforeitbecameanyworse.

He stopped to put the packages down so that he might unlock the door of the Rolls. It was at that

momentthatherealizedtherewasaparkingticketonhiswindshield.Aparkingticket?Whatdidthat
have to do with the spirit of Christmas? Certainly, the members of the constabulary were only doing
their job, but still, wouldn’t their effort be better served if they were out tracking down the criminals
rampantinthistownratherthanindulginginparkingtickets?

The crowd’s roar grew twice as loud as before. Despite his better judgment, Alfred took one final

lookbackatthethrong.There,abovetheirheads,hecouldseesomesortofgiganticbox,wrappedupin
bright paper and colorful ribbons, like some monstrous Christmas present. And the cheers at this
monstrosity’sarrivalweredeafening.

Thebigclockinthemiddleofthemallstruckseven.Infact,alltheclocksineverystoreupanddown

thestreetstruckseven,increasingthedinevenmore.

Alfred plucked the ticket from the windshield and walked over to the driver’s side of the car. He

wouldn’tbegettingoutofhereamomenttoosoon.

Max’s mind went blank when he saw the box. It looked like a present the size of a house. And not a
smallhouse,either.

“Greatidea,”themayorremarked.Forthefirsttimetonight,Maxcouldheargenuineadmirationin

thepolitician’svoice.

“Butnotmine,”Maxhadtoadmit.Hehadtogetonwithhisspeech.Ordidhe?Thewaythecrowd

wascheeringnow,hedoubtediftheycouldhearanythingelsehewouldsay.Helookedforwardtothe
edgeofthestage,wherehissonhadmovedtohandoutthepresentstothecrowd,butthefirstofthe
gifts had fallen from Chip’s hands to land on top of the sewer grate before the podium. Chip stood,
frozen,watchingthegiantpresentmakeitswaythroughthesquaretowardthem.

Whatwasthis?Asmall,wrappedgifthadfallenuponthegrating,rightupabovehisvantagepoint?

Thesquatmanchuckled.“Deckthehalls,”hewhispered.

Howgenerousofthem.Andhowappropriate,forhewasabouttogiveallofGothamCityapresent

ofhisveryown.

CHAPTERFIVE

t was all part of the job, Commissioner Gordon thought, I but he didn’t have to be happy with it.

EspeciallywhenthecrowdgrewaslargeasitdidfortheShreck’sannualChristmasgiveaway.

There was always the potential for disaster when there were this many people in this confined a

space.AndthenShreckinsistedonlettinghissontossoutfreebiestothecrowd!Butwaseventhatbad
enough?No,nowthatpublicity-madstoreownerhadtocomeupwiththisgiantgiftgimmick,without
eveninformingthepoliceaboutitbeforehand!

Theremust,Gordonthought,besomestatutetheycouldhaulShreckinon,ifonlytomakehimsee

reasonnexttime.Butthemayorwouldneverallowit.Shreckwasabigcampaigncontributor,afterall.
Nottomentionagreatsourceofphotoopportunities.

Oh,well,Gordonhadtolookonthebrightside.Thiswouldallbeoverinthenextfewminutes.No

onehadbeenkilledyet.Andatleasthegottositinhispolicecruiser,outsideofthecrushofthecrowd,
andawayfromthelong-windedspeechmakingofMaxShreck.

Gordon turned his attention back to this huge box that was rolling into the square. It was designed

likeoneofthosefloatsintheChristmasparade.Lookingatthebottomofthebox,hecouldmakeout
wheels at each of the corners propelling the float along; not truck wheels, though, they were too thin
andcloselyspacedforthat.Gordonwouldguessthatthefloatwasbeingmovedbyfourmotorcycles.
Andinbetweenthecycles,thecommissionercouldseewalkingfeet.Hewonderediftherewasgoingto
beasecondparttothispresentation.

Gordonshookhishead.Thisseemedlikeanawfullotoftrouble,evenforamediasharklikeShreck.

Hedecidedhe’dbettercalltheotherunitsstationedaroundtheplaza.Whoknewwhatproblemsthey’d
havewithcrowdcontrolifthisgiftopenedup?

Corndog!

Shewouldnevergetanywhereifshejustsataroundandmoped!IfMaxhadn’ttakenhisspeech,it

washerjobtobringitdowntohim!Selinagrabbedtheenvelopethatcontainedhercarefullyworded
season’sgreetings,andheadedfortheelevator.

Shejusthopedshewasn’ttoolate.

Gordonstoppedtalkingintothepoliceradio.

GothamPlazahadgonecrazy.

The giant package burst open. Three men on motorcycles roared out, right into the crowd. People

triedtorun,screaming,frantictogetawayfromthegrowlingengines.

Afourthcyclerippedoutofthesideofthebox,jumpedtherailingabovetheplazaandlandedinthe

middleofthecrowdgatheredforthetreelighting.

Someofthepeopledidn’tmakeit,andwereflattenedortossedasidebythemaraudingcycles.Afifth

cyclist emerged from hiding to follow the first three. The crowd was too tightly packed. They had
nowheretoescape.

Andtheboxstillhadmoresurprises.

The top opened. Five acrobats sprang out, cartwheeling into the panicked crowd to knock down

anyonestillleftstanding.Oneofthemkayoedamountedpatrolman.Anotherflippedbeyondthenearby
onlookers, straight toward a mobile soup-kitchen Shreck had set up for the homeless. The kitchen
volunteersbarelyescapedastheacrobats’fistsandfeetsmashedeverythinginsight.

Theotheracrobatshadanothergoal.TheywereheadedstraightfortheplatformwiththeChristmas

tree!

Confusionwaseverywhere.CallscameintoGordonfromtheothercars,askingfordirections.The

panicked crowd surged away from the plaza to surround the commisoner’s car. People were climbing
overeachotherintheirrushtoescape.Someonewasgoingtogetcrushedoutthere.Asledcrashedinto
thewindshieldofGordon’scruiser.

Somethinghadtobedonenow.Andtherewasonlyonepersonwhocoulddoit.

Thepolicecommissionerfoundhisvoiceagain.“Whatareyouwaitingfor?”hebarkedintohisradio.

“Thesignal!”

CHAPTERSIX

ruce Wayne sat in the darkness. Alfred hadn’t returned home from his Christmas errands yet, and

BrucewasallaloneinWayneManor.Aloneinthedarkandquiet;alonewithhisthoughts.

Bruce didn’t like going out in crowds much at night. It reminded him too much of another winter

night,whenhewasonlyaboy.HisparentshadtakenhimintodowntownGothamCityearlieronthat
day, and they had all stayed until long after dark. They had had a wonderful time that day, going
shopping,havingdinner,goingtoashow.Brucecouldneverrememberhavingsuchagoodtimewith
hisparents.Itwasadayfilledwithnothingbutlaughter.

Andthen—

Bruceclosedhiseyes,buthecouldstillseethegunmanwhosteppedoutoftheshadowstorobhis

parents.Hecouldstillseehisfatherputupafight,seehismother’smouthopenasshecriedforhelp.
Andhesawthedoubleflashofthegunastwobulletskilledbothfatherandmother.

Theyhadtakenhisparentsawayfromhim.

Nowhewouldmakethempay.

Heopenedhiseyesandsawthelightshininginthewindow;thesymbol,asilhouetteofabatina

poolofyellowlight.

Brucesmiled.

Hewasneeded.

Thiswasgoingsowell.Firstthecyclists,thentheacrobats,andnowtherestofhismerryband.Itwas
gettingtobearealcircus.

TheFireBreathersmashedthewindowofthetoystore.Hestuckthatrodofhisinhismouth,and

breathed fire over the whole display window. The entire place went up in flames. That precious Ice
Princessranaway,pushinganelderlywomantotheground.Oh,dear,lookattheoldbag.She’dfallen
andshecouldn’tgetup.Inaminuteortwo,shewassuretobetrampled.

Thesquatcreaturelaughedfromhisvantagepointbeneaththesewergrate.Ifallwentaccordingto

plan,thiswasthelastnighthewouldeverhavetowatchtheworldfromdownhere.Soon,hewouldbe
upthereagainwithallthefatcats,andallthose“haves”wouldlookuptohim,becausehe’dhavemore
thanallofthemcombined.

Hesawabeaconsplitthesky.He’dknowthatblackandyellowsignalanywhere,anditonlymade

himlaughthatmuchharder.

“Ooh,Batman,”hesaidinhisodd,raspyvoice.“I’mtremblin’.”

CHAPTERSEVEN

heelevatorhadtakenforevertogettothetopfloor.Selinahadjumpedinitassoonasithadopened,

poundingthedownbuttonandhopingthatshewasstillintimetosalvagesomeportionofherboss’s
speech.Thankfully,nobodyelsewasgoingdownjustthen,andshemadethedescentinunderaminute.
Sheranthroughthelobbyandoutthemaindoorofthedepartmentstore.

Boy, it sure was noisy out here. For a second, she was almost happy her boss never let her attend

thesethings.Nowwherewasheinallthesepeople?

Threemotorcyclesburstoutofthecrowd,headedstraightforher.Shejumpedbackoutofthewayas

thecyclesroaredonby,stillalmostbrushingherclothes.

Ifshehadn’tjumpedshewouldhavebeencrushed.Boy,shethought,allthoseworkoutsatthegym

hadactuallydonehersomegood.

But why weren’t those cyclists looking where they were going? They could really hurt somebody!

Andthewayeverybodywasscreaming;wassomethingwrongdownhere?

Thiswascrazy.

Anorgangrinder,withabigredorganboxandhandlebarmustaches,wasthefirstoneonthestage.

Andhehadtheusualmonkey—exceptthatthismonkeyhadagun.

Maxhopeditwasacapgun.

The Organ Grinder grinned and turned his box toward the Christmas tree. He twisted the handle.

Bulletsspewedoutofthebox.ItwasaGatlinggun!Ornamentsandlightsexplodedunderthehailof
bullets.

“Take,that,tannenbaum!”thegrinderyelled.

Buttherewereothernewcomersonthestagenow—agrosslyfatclown,anotherguy,dressedinrags,

whokeptstickingasworddownhisthroat,andthisverycolorfullydressedwoman.ForonceinMax’s
life,hewasn’tallthatinterestedinthecurvesbeneaththatwoman’scostume,probablybecausealarge
portionofhercostumeconsistedofrowsandrowsofknives.

Both the Mayor and Chip moved toward the back of the platform. Max wanted to join them. But

wherecouldtheyrun?

“Relax,”theladywiththeknivesremarked.“Wejustcamefortheguywhorunstheshow.”

TheMayorsteppedforward.Maxwasimpressed.Heneverthoughttheweaselhadthatkindofguts.

“Whatdoyouwantfromme?”themayorasked.

TheSwordSwallowerlaughedandpushedHisHonoroffthestage.

“Notyou,”thefellowsomehowsaidaroundhissword.“Shreck.”

Him? Max thought. Where could he run? Where could he hide? But good old Chip stepped in the

way.ThatgaveMaxamomentmoretoplanhisescape.

“Allthiscourage,”theclownremarkeddrolly.“Goose-bumpcity.”

Andwiththat,theKnifeLadywhippedoneofherbladesstraightatChip,nickinghisear.Oh,God,

Maxthought,theywerebothindanger.

“Son!”Maxcalledout

“Dad!”Chipcalledback.“Saveyourself!”

ButMaxhadalreadyleaptfromtheplatformandwasheadingforthecrowdatadeadrun.

Chiplookedacrosstheplazaandrealizedthismadscenewasgoingtogetwilderstill.

There,onthefarsideofthecrowd,hesawtheBatmobile.

CHAPTEREIGHT

lfred was trapped by the surging crowd, still mere feet from the safety of the Rolls. At the very

minutethathehadbeenabouttoreenterhiscar,thatlargeboxhadburstopen,sendingthecrowdintoa
panicandpushinghimadozenfeetawayfromhisgoal.

Therethecarsat,bulletproof,shatterproof,withaphoneinsidewithwhichhemightbeabletocall

MasterBruceandsummonhelp,andtherewasnowayhecouldreachit.Everyonewasscreamingand
pushing futilely one against the other, but the crowd seemed trapped by its very density, without
direction.

Andthecriminalsonlywantedtomakeitworse.Athugonamotorcycleplowedthroughthemasses

onlyafewfeetinfrontofhimwhilethreestilt-walkersstartedkickingthecrowdfrombehind.Withall
thesemiscreantsincostume,Alfredthought,itwaslikesomenightmareversionofthecircus.

Heheardtheroarofengines,notmotorcyclesthistime,butadeepersound,andonethathebelieved

herecognized.

Alfredlookedbacktotheplazaandsmiledatlast.

TheBatmobilehadarrived.

BladesshotfromeithersideoftheBatmobile,smashingthroughtwodifferentstiltsinaninstant.A

pairofstilt-walkersfelltothegroundfacefirst.

Buttheywerenotoutofdangeryet.Alfredsawacircusstrongman,allripplingmusclesbeneathhis

tight-fittingcostume,bearingdownuponthem.Itlookedasifthebutlerwouldhavetorescuethelittle
girl.

The Strongman was gaining on them. Alfred glanced over to see that the Batmobile was shooting

some of its arsenal, small black Batdiscs that whirled straight for the gangsters terrorizing the crowd.
TheBatmobileturnedinAlfred’sdirection.

Now.

AlfredduckedasanotherBatdiscsailedoverhisheadtoconnectwiththeStrongman’scranium.The

Tattooed Strongman fell, quite unconscious. Alfred stood again and smiled as the Batmobile wheeled
past.

Thatwasverynicelydone.

Maxcouldn’tbelieveit.Hehadgottenaway.Itjustproved,heguessed,whatapairofstill-speedylegs
and a bellyful of fear can do for you. But that fear could only take him so far. He had to stop for a
moment,tocatchhisbreathanddecideonhisnextmove.Hedarteddownasidestreet,freeatlastofall
butafewmembersofthescreamingmob.

Max’sstepsslowedevenmoreashefelthotaircomingupfromasewergratebelowhisfeet.Itfelt

oddlywarmandreassuringcomparedtothewinterchillaroundhim,especiallynowthatthesweaton
hisfaceandhandswasexposedtotheGothamwind.

Maybeheshouldstophereforamomentortwoandreconnoiter,perhapsfigureoutexactlywhatwas

goingonhere.Afterall,hehadjustsurvivedthreatsfromcriminals,aspeedychase,andanearcapture.

Forthefirsttime,Maxwonderediftherewassomewayhecouldturnallthistohisadvantage.

Actionalwayshelped.

He’dtakencareoftheworstofthisbandofthugsinthemiddleofGothamPlaza.Nowhehadtomop

upthetrashontheoutskirts.HeturnedtheBatmobiletowardthreemoreofthecriminalswhoseemed
intentondestroyingthesurroundingstores.

These three were dressed as clowns. Batman found that particularly appropriate. He angled the

Batmobileslightlysothatallthreeweredirectlyinhispath,thenpressedtheaccelerator.Theclowns
turnedandfiredonhim.Thebulletsbouncedharmlesslyoffthecar’sexoskeletonastheBatmobilesped
towarditsprey.

Oneclownmanagedtojumpfree,buttheothertwobouncedsmartlyoffthehood.He’dcomeback

forthethirdinamoment.Batmanturnedthewheeltofollowanotherfellowwhowasbreathingfireon
thewindowdisplaysofatoystore.

Waitamoment.Bothofthoseclownshadstillmanagedtoclingtothehood,andonewasfiringathis

windshield.Andthatclownhemissedwasfiringathimfrombehind.Sometimes,thesefelonssimply
didn’tknowwhentheywerebeaten.

Batmanhitthebrakes.

TheBatmobilestoppedabruptly,launchingbothclownsforwardintotheFireBreather.Allthreeof

themfellintothesmashedwindowdisplay.

Batmanhadoneclowntogo.

He twisted the knob to activate the hydraulic lift. In a matter of seconds, the lift’s steel framework

unfolded from the car’s undercarriage and jacked the entire Batmobile off the ground, spinning the
vehiclecompletelyaroundsothatthetoystorewasnowtotheBatmobile’srear.

Batman heard a noise behind him as he gunned the engine again. Somehow, the Fire Breather had

regainedhisfeet.Hejumpedfromthewindow,readytobreathehisflameontheBatmobile.

Batman floored the accelerator. The Fire Breather was caught in the exhaust. Batman checked the

sceneinhisrearviewmirror.Thistime,theFireBreatherwentupinflame.Alllitup,Batmanthought,
likeaChristmastree.

Nowwhatwasthatlastclownupto?

MaybeBatmancouldgivehimahottime,too.

CHAPTERNINE

elina supposed it was too late to give Max his speech. In fact, the way this crowd was moving, it

seemedtobetoolatetodomuchofanything.

Thenshehadthisclowngrabher.Aguyactuallydressedinaclownsuitpulledherfromthestepsand

stuckthemuzzleofagunagainstherneck.

Hemutteredsomethingabout“Nevertakingmealive.”

Somehow,Selinadoubtedhewantedtostartaconversation.Sheheardsomethingcrackastheclown

draggedherinfrontofhim.Somehow,shemanagedtolookdownandsawthatherbrand-newheelhad
snappedoffherbrand-newfashionpump.

Thatwasit,Selinathought.Thoseheelscosthermoney.

Nowshewasmad.

“I probably shouldn’t bring this up,” she said pointedly to the terrifying Clown, “but this is a very

seriouspairofshoesyouruined.”

TheterrifyingClownstaredatherinastonishment.

“Couldn’tyouhavejustbeenaprince,”shecontinued,“andbrokenmyjaw?Mybodywillheal,but

thatwasthelastpairleftinmysize!”

“AlltheseinnocentbystandersandIhadtopickyou?”theterrifyingClownasked.

Selinaopenedhermouthtorespond.

“Shutup!”theClownhissed.

Boy,Selinathought,somebodyaroundherehadreallygottenuponthewrongsideofthebed.This

creephadhisgunstuckinherfacenow.Maybe,sheconsidered,sheshouldbeworriedaboutmorethan
hershoe.

The Batmobile screeched to a halt in front of them. The door flew open and a man dressed all in

blackleaptoutandheadedstraightforthem.ItwasBatman.

Anacrobatsomersaultedoutofthecrowd.Thesecircuspeoplewereeverywhere.Heheadedstraight

forthemaninblack,whosemuscularcostumealsofeaturedaverygood-lookingcowlandcape.

Batmanpunchedtheacrobat’slightsoutwithoneverywell-placedfist.

ThisgottheterrifyingClown’sattention.HewavedhisgunattheBatmanforaninstant,thenquickly

broughtthemuzzlebacktoSelina.

“Listenup,MisterMan-bat,”hesaidveryloudlyinSelina’sear.“YoutakeonestepcloserandI’ll—”

Batmanlookedbackandsmiled.

“Sure”wasallhesaid.

Hewhippedoutsomesortofgunfromaholsteronhishipandfiredaspeartowardtheclown.The

clownjerkedhisheadawayasthespearburieditselfintothewallbehindthem.

TheterrifyingClownstartedtolaugh.“Oh,niceshot,mister—”

ButBatmanwasn’tthrough.Therewasalineconnectedtothespear,alineBatmantuggedsharply.A

piece of wall fell forward with the spear, right on the head of the terrifying Clown. The gunman
staggered.Selinasawherchance.

“Youshouldn’thavelefttheotherheel.”Shedrovethepointofherremainingshoeintotheterrifying

Clown’s knee, making him lose his balance the rest of the way. Clown and gun went tumbling to the
ground.

Batmansteppedforwardandleanedoverhisfallenfoe.Aglovedhandreacheddownandbrushedat

acrimsontriangletattooovertheterrifyingClown’slefteye.Selinastared.Wasthatsignificant?

TheBatman,herotomillions,andprettywellbuiltbesides,wasmereinchesawayfromher.Come

on,Selinathought.Thisisthechanceofalifetime.Saysomething!

“Wow,”shebegan.“TheBatman—orisitjust‘Batman’?”

Hedidn’treply.Shetriedtosmile.

“Yourchoice,”sheadded.“Ofcourse.”

Batmanlookedup,andforamomenttheireyesmet.Hehadveryniceeyes.Shethoughtshesawthe

slightestbitofasmilebeneathhismask.

“Gottago,”hesaid.

Andhewasgone,halfablockawayinamatterofseconds,offtotalkwithCommissionerGordon.

Thecrowdgatheredaroundthetwoandstartedtocheer.

Thatwasit?HerbigmeetingwithBatman?Notthatshecouldblamehim.Itwasnowonderhedidn’t

waitaround,withherterribleattemptsatconversation.

“Well,thatwas—verybrief,”shemurmured.“Likemostmeninmylife.”Shechuckledcaustically.

“Whatmen?”

Shelookeddownattheunconsciousclownatherfeet.“Well,there’syoubut,let’sfaceit,youneed

therapy.”

Shekneltbesidetheclownandpickeduphisgun.Shehadnevergottenacloselookattheweapon

whenitwaspressedintoherneck.Itwasn’taregulargunatall.Ithadmoreofafuturisticlooktoit,
likeitshotoutelectricityorsomething.

Shepointeditattheclown.Whoops,maybeshepulledthetrigger.Theclownstiffenedforasecond,

asifhe’dbeenhitbyajoltfromthegun.Soshe’ddefinitelypulledthetrigger.

“Electroshocktherapy,”shereassuredthestill-unconsciousbody.“Whatabargain.Nowwebothfeel

better.”

Maxheardthesoundofcheers.Maybeallthecarnagewasover.Maybeheshouldgobackandjointhe
celebration.

Thesewergratehewasstandingonopenedup.

Maxfellbeforehecouldevenutteraproperscream.Andashefell,hesawthesewergratepopback

intoplaceoverhead.

He landed in something soft. But he didn’t stop moving. Something had grabbed him around the

ankles.Andthatsomethingwasdragginghimintothedarkness.

Forthesakeofform,Maxscreamedforreal.

CHAPTERTEN

“T

hanksforsavingtheday,Batman,”CommissionerGordonsaidinallsincerity.“Thanksformaking

therestofuslooklikeabunchofdolts.”Helaughed,atraceofenvyinhisvoice,butheshookhishead
as he watched his men rounding up the wounded thugs. “I’m afraid the Red Triangle Circus Gang is
back.”

Batmansurveyedtheremainsofthecarnagearoundhim.“We’llsee”washisonlyreply.

Gordon wanted to ask exactly what Batman meant by that. But the Mayor showed up before the

commissionercouldsayanotherword.

“The Caped Crusader!” the Mayor bubbled. “We don’t deserve you!” He smiled as a news

photographersnappedapicture.“Theyalmostmadeoffwithourmoverandshaker,MaxShreck.But
—”

HisHonorstoppedandfrowned,lookingbacktothespeaker’splatformandthedecimatedChristmas

tree.Inalowervoice,headded,“Whereisthatinsufferablesonofabitch?”

HelookedbacktoBatman.ButBatmanwasnolongerthere.Gordoncouldn’thelpbutsmileatHis

Honor’sconsternation.Batmanhadnoneedtostandaroundandlistentoself-importantpoliticians.

GordonenviedBatmanmorethanever.

Selinathrewopenthedoortoherapartment.

“Honey,I’mhome!”

Shewaitedfortheansweringsilencebeforefinishingthejoke.

“Oh,Iforgot.I’mnotmarried.”

Itwasanoldjoke,butitwasherjoke.Shelaugheddutifullyasshelookedaroundherstudiodigs:the

pinkwall-to-wallcarpetthatwentsowellwithheroff-whitefurniture,herfullystockeddollhouse,that
quiltshe’dgetaroundtofinishingsomeday,hersubstantialcollectionofstuffedanimals,andthatneon
“HELLOTHERE”signthatwouldgreetherwhentherewasnomantodothejob.Plus,ofcourse,she
hadaChristmastreetocheertheplaceupevenmore.Now,ifherjobwouldonlyallowherenoughtime
toenjoythisplace.Oh,well.Aworkingwomancouldn’thaveeverything.

Sheopeneduptheclosetandhungupherlongwintercoat,realizing,asitbumpedheavilyagainstthe

wall,thatthepocketstillcontainedthestungunshehadtakenfromtheclown.Oh,well,shethought
again.Shepulledthegunfromthepocketandlookeddownatit.Awomanalsocouldn’thavetoomuch
protection.

Anaccusatorymeowcausedhertoturntothehalf-openwindow.Therewashercat,returnedfrom

hernightlyprowlingintimetoeat.

“MissKitty!”Selinagreetedherasshewalkedovertothekitchencounter.“Backfrommoresexual

escapades you refuse to share.” She put the gun down and pulled a bowl from the cupboard, then
openedtherefrigeratordoor.“NotthatI’deverpry.”

Shefrowned.Shewasoutofcatfoodagain.Ah,therewasthemilk.Shepouredsomeinthebowl

andsetitonthefloor.“Drinkyourdinner.”

MissKittywalkedregallyfromthewindow,asifbysimplyhavingthegoodgracetoreturntothe

apartment,themilkwasnolessthanherjustreward.Selinacollapsedbackagainstthecounter,totally
exhausted.Sometimesshewishedshecouldhavethecarefreelifeofacat.

She looked down at Miss Kitty, contentedly lapping at the milk. “What did you just purr?” She

changedhervoice,tryingtomakeitsoundmorecatlike.“‘Howcananyonebesopathetic?’”

Selinanoddedinresignationassheresumedhernormaltone.“Yes,toyouIseempathetic.ButI’ma

workinggirl.I’vegottopaytherent.Maybeifyouwerechippingin,insteadofsteppingout—”

Shelettherestofthesentencehangintheair,andwalkedovertothephonemachine,perchedinthe

midstofpicturesofSelinainhappier,lesshurriedtimes:onatrampolineasakid;herfifteenthbirthday
withherhorse;thattimesheclimbedthemountainduringacollegevacation.Sheusedtohavetimeto
reallygetexercise.Nowshewasluckyifshecouldrunforthesubway.

She pressed the play button on her answering machine, then turned and pulled down the old-

fashionedMurphybedfromitsnicheinthewall.

“Selina,dear,”thefirstmessagebegan.Itwashermother’svoice,inhersternthis-is-going-to-be-for-

your-own-goodvoice.“It’syourmother,justcallingtosayhello—”

“Yeah,right,”Selinamurmured,anticipatingwhatcamenext,“but—”

“—but,” her mother continued right on cue, “I’m disappointed that you’re not coming home for

Christmas. I wanted to discuss just why you insist on languishing in Gotham City as some lowly
secretarywhenyou—”

“Lowly assistant,” Selina corrected as she reached back to punch the fast forward button. “Thank

you.”

Shereleasedthebuttonassheheardthebeepthatsignaledthebeginningofthenextmessage.

“Selina, about that Christmas getaway we planned?” It was her boyfriend Paul, sounding even

wimpierthanusual.“I’llbegoingalone.”Hepausedasifafraidtocontinue,thenaddedinarush,“Dr.
ShawsaysIneedtobemyownpersonnow,andnotanappendage—”

“Someappendage,”Selinaremarkedruefullyasshefastforwardedagain.“Thepartyneverstopson

Selina Kyle’s phone answering machine.” She sighed. “I guess I should have let him win that last
racquetballgame.”

Anotherbeep,anothermessage.

“Selina,” the gruff woman’s voice began. “We’ve missed you at the rape prevention class.” Her

lecturing tone was almost as good as Selina’s mother’s. “It is not enough to master martial arts. Hey,
Elvisknewthosemoves,andhediedfat.Youmuststopseeingyourselfasavicti—”

Shefastforwardedonemoretime.

“Hi,Selina.”Anall-too-familiarvoicethistime.“Thisisyourselfcalling.Toremindyou,honey,that

you have to come back to the office unless you remembered to bring home the Bruce Wayne file,
because the meeting’s on Wednesday and Max Slavemaster wants every pertinent fact at your lovely

taperedfingertips!”

Oh, no! How could she have forgotten—well, she knew exactly how, what with the clown and all.

Butstill!Selinaliftedthestungunfromthecounterandfireditattheansweringmachine,joltingitto
silence.

“Thefile!”shemurmured.“Youstupidcorndog!Corndog!Deep-friedcorndog!”

Shewentbacktotheclosettofetchhercoat.Somuchforagoodnight’ssleep.

Shewasslowlygoingcrazy.Whynotmakeitsimple,shethought,anddoitallatonce?

Forsomereason,MissKittymeowedgood-bye.

CHAPTERELEVEN

axopenedhiseyes.Hewashavingtroublefocusing.Hehadn’trememberedgoingtosleep,infact

didn’tremembermuchatallafterhehadrunawayfromabunchofcrazycircusperformers.

Hedefinitelycouldn’trememberhowhe’dgottenhere,whereverhewas.

Heturnedhishead.There,inchesaway,wasapenguinstaringbackathim.

Apenguin?

Maxyelped.

Thepenguinflappeditswingsandyelpedback.

Maxturnedbacktothechairbeneathhimandyelledalloveragain.Hewasdazed.

Andfacinghim,smilingathim,wereallthosecircuscrazies.

There, in front of him, was the Organ Grinder with his monkey, the Tattooed Strongman, that lady

with the throwing knives, the guy who swallowed swords, a woman with a boa constrictor looped
aroundherarmandwaist,andaratty-lookingladywitharatty-lookingpoodle,nottomentionallthose
clowns,acrobats,andstilt-walkers.

TheyallstaredbackatMax.What’smore,theysnickered.Butthenthesnickeringstopped,replaced

byarespectfulsilence,asifallthecircuspeoplewereexpectingsomething.

Maxcouldhearthehumofahugeelectricalgeneratorinthebackground,andsawwhereitpowereda

huge air conditioner at the other end of the room. Neither one of them looked very safe; the air
conditionerwascoveredwithgrime,andhecouldseesparksflyingfromthegeneratorevenfromhis
vantagepoint.

Andtoeithersideofthegeneratorandairconditioner,therewere—penguins.

Evenmorepenguins?

There were hundreds of the critters. Big penguins and small penguins, walking and sitting and

flappingandplayingacrosstheice.Therewerepenguinsalloverthisplace!

Maxheardanothersoundbeyondthegenerator,alouddrippingsound.

Drip.Drip.Drip.

He turned to his left. There, among the penguins, was a particularly large one, holding an open

umbrella.Maxwatchedthedropsofwaterhittheblackfabricwithasinisterregularity.

Drip.Drip.Drip.

Anumbrella?

Drip.Drip.Drip.

Thepenguinwiththeumbrellawaddledforward,beyondthefallingwater.Andnotonlywasthisbird

big,butMaxcouldswearitwaswearingaunionsuit.

Aunionsuit?

Yes,itwastatteredandfilthy,butitwasaunionsuit.Andthebirdworeapairofscuffedandwell-

wornshoes.Maybe,Maxthought,hehadsimplylosthismind.Itwouldbethesimplestexplanation.

Itgotworse.Thebirdclosedtheumbrella.

Itwasn’tapenguin.

ItwasThePenguin.

A small, rotund creature with beady eyes and a beaklike nose stared back at Max. He looked like

nothingsomuchasoneofthefowlsfromwhichhegothisname.ThePenguin.Thestarofthetabloids.
Thelegendarybird-beastfrombeneaththestreets.

ThePenguingrinned.

“Hi,”heremarked.

Maxopenedhismouthtoscreamagain,butitwasbeyondhim.Nosoundcameoutatall.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is”—The Penguin paused to take a breath

—“AAAAUUUGGGHHH!”

Maxstilldidn’tgetanythingout.Hewasn’tsurehe’dbeabletogetanythingouteveragain.

“Actually,” The Penguin reassured him most jovially, “this is all just a bad dream. You’re home in

bed.Heavilysedated.Restingcomfortably.Anddyingfromthecarcinogensyou’vepersonallyspewed
inalifetimeofprofiteering.Tragicironyorpoeticjustice?Youtellme.”

Maxrememberedtobreathe.Thathelped.

“MyGod,”hemanaged.“It’strue.ThePenguin.Manofthesewers.Pleasedon’thurt—”

“Quiet,Max!”ThePenguinsnapped.“Whatdoyouthink,thisisaconversation?”

Maxquieted.ThePenguintwirledhisumbrella,pressingsomethingdownonthehandle.Thetopof

theumbrellaspitagreatgoutoffire.ThePenguinnoddedhappily,quitepleasedwiththedisplay.He
glancedagainatShreck.

“Oddasitmayseem,Max,wehavesomethingincommon.We’rebothperceivedasmonsters.But

somehow,you’reawell-respectedmonster.AndIam”—helookedhumblydownathisdirtysuit—“to
date—not.”

Withthat,ThePenguinbentdown.Maxnoticedhehadawholepileofumbrellasathisfeet.Shreck

wonderedifalltheotherswereweapons,too.ThePenguinpickedupanewumbrella.Itwasthefirst
timethebusinessmanhadtakenagoodlookatthebirdman’shands.Exceptthattheyonlysortoflooked
likehands.Theyalsosortoflookedlikeflippers.ThePenguinsmiledatMax’sattention,andpointed
theumbrellaasifthisonemightshootsomethingelse.

Maxalmostflinched.Thatwasn’tapileofumbrellasatThePenguin’sfeet.Itwasawholearsenal!

ButMaxhadn’tgottenwherehewastodaybyfallingapartinfrontofhisadversaries.Ifhewasgoing

togetoutofthis,hehadtotalktoThePenguinasanequal,evenifitwasmonstertomonster.

“Frankly,” he said firmly, “I think that reputation is a bum rap. I’m a businessman. Tough, yes.

Shrewd,okay.Butthatdoesn’tmakemeamonster—”

“Don’tembarrassyourself,Max,”ThePenguininterrupted.“Iknowallaboutyou.Whatyouhide,I

discover.Whatyouputinyourtoilet,Iputonmymantel.”Hesmiledandpattedhisrotundbelly.“Get
thepicture?”

HehadwhatMaxputinhistoilet?Maxsupposedthatwasoneadvantageoflivinginthesewers.But

justhowliterallywashesupposedtotakethisguy?

ThePenguinpickedupanotherumbrellaandopenedit,showingabrightspiraldesign.Itlookedsort

oflikethose“hypno-disks”Maxusedtoseeincomicsandmagazineswhenhewasaboy.

Andhewasworriedaboutsomefreakwhousedthiskindofgimmick?Maxcouldn’thelpbutbea

littlecondescending.“What,”heasked,“isthatsupposedtohypnotizeme?”

“No,”ThePenguinrepliedjovially,“justgiveyouasplittingheadache.”

“Well,”Maxrepliedwithgatheringconfidence,“it’snotworking.”

The Penguin grinned as he pointed the head of the umbrella at the businessman. There was an

explosionasMaxsawaspoutofflamecomefromtheumbrella’sbarrel.

Agunshot!Maxclutchedathischest.Hadhebeenhit?

“Youbigbaby!”ThePenguinchidedashewavedtheumbrella.“Justblanks.WouldIgotoallthis

troubletonightjusttokillyou?No,Ihaveanentirelyotherpurpose.”

Withthatremark,alltraceofmirthdisappearedfromThePenguin’scountenance.Helookedserious,

solemn,almostrespectable.

“I’mready,Max,”hecontinued,hisvoicemuchlessassuredthanbefore.“I’vebeenlingeringdown

heretoolong.”Hesighed.“I’mstartingtolikethesmell.Badsign.”

HelookedintoMax’seyeswithhisownbeadyorbs.“It’shightimeformetoascend.Toreemerge.

Withyourhelp,Max,yourknow-how,yoursavvy,youracumen.”

Hepausedandlookedtohiscircuscronies,whoappearedgenuinelymovedbyhisadmissions.

“Iwasn’tborninasewer,youknow.Icomefrom—”Helookeduptowardsomeplacefarabovetheir

currentlocation.“Likeyou,”ThePenguincontinuedforcefully.“And,likeyou,Iwantsomerespect—a
recognitionofmybasichumanity—anoccasionalbreeze!”

Acoupleofthecircusgangseemedonthevergeoftears.

“Mostofall,”ThePenguinwenton,hisownvoicealmostbreaking,“IwanttofindoutwhoIam.By

finding my parents. Learning my human name. Simple stuff that the good people of Gotham take for
granted!”

Maxstillcouldn’tseethis.“AndexactlywhyamIgoingtohelpyou?”

ThePenguinheldouthishand.Oneofhiscroniesgavehimwhatmusthaveoncebeenabrightred

Christmasstocking,beforeitgotcoveredbygreenishgunk.Oddlyenough,itwasexactlythesamesize
andshapeasthosestockingsthatMax’sagedgrandmotherhadknittedfortheirmantel.

No,Shreckthought.Itwasacoincidencethatthisparticularstockinglookedsofamiliar.Therewasa

namestitchedonthestocking.Hehadtosquinttomakeitoutbeneaththegrime.Thenamewas“Max.”

“Well,”ThePenguinexplained,“let’sstartwithabatchoftoxicwastefromyourcleantextileplant.”

HepulledarustyThermosfromthestockingandunscrewedthecap.“There’sawholelagoonofthis
crudintheback—”

HepouredoutathickgoofromtheThermosontotheice-coveredtable.Thegoosizzledwhereithit.

Whodidthisguythinkhewastryingtoblackmail?

“Yawn,”Maxrepliedingreatdisinterest.“Thatcouldhavecomefromanywhere.”

“WhataboutthedocumentsthatproveyouownhalfthefiretrapsinGotham?”

Maxraisedasingleboredeyebrow.“Ifthereweresuchdocuments—andthatisnotanadmission—I

wouldhaveseentoitthattheywereshredded.”

The Penguin again held out his hand. This time, one of the circus goons gave him a stack of

something shiny. Max stared. They looked like nothing so much as a stack of shredded papers stuck
togetherwithavastquantityoftransparenttape.

“Alotoftapeandalittlepatiencemakeallthedifference,”ThePenguinremarkedproudly.“Bythe

way,how’sFredAdkins,youroldpartner?”

Maxcouldfeelhiscoolslippingaway.

“Fred,”hemurmured.

Anyonecouldfindoutabouthischemicalplant.

“Fred?”heaskednonchalantly.

Anditlookedlikethisguymighthavereassembledacoupleofembarrassingdocuments.

ButhowcouldheknowaboutFred?

“He’s—uh—”Maxmanagedatlast,“actually,he’sbeenonanextendedvacation,and—”

ThePenguinnoddedhappilyandreachedundertheicytable.Hepulledoutwhatlookedlikeahuman

hand,severedatthewrist.

“Hi,Max!”ThePenguincontinued,talkingfromthesideofhismouthlikesomebadventriloquist.

“Rememberme?I’mFred’shand!”

But,Maxthought,howcouldhehavethat?Thehandshouldhavebeendisposedof!

He caught himself. Just like the chemical waste should have been flushed away, and the shredded

papers should have been incinerated. The Penguin obviously was the master of Max’s refuse. And he
lookedlikehemightbethemasterofMax’slife.

ThePenguinleanedtowardMax.“Wanttogreetanyotherbodyparts?Orstrolldownmemorylane

withtorn-up,kinkyPolaroids?Failedurinetests?Remember,Max.Youflushit,Iflauntit!”

Ascoldasitwasdownhere,Maxfoundhimselfsweating.Hedidhisbesttosmile.

“Youknowwhat,Mr.Penguin,sir?”heaskedinhisbestbusinessvoice.“IthinkperhapsIcouldhelp

orchestratealittlewelcome-homescenarioforyou.Andoncewe’rebothbackhome,perhapswecan
scratcheachother’sbacks.”

Thatseemedtopleasethebirdmangreatly.“Youwon’tregretthis,Mr.Shreck.”ThePenguinputout

hishand.

Maxgrabbeditanddidhisbesttoshakeitheartily.ButnotonlydidThePenguin’shandlookpasty

andpeculiar,itwasalsoascoldasdeath.

ThePenguinsteppedback,butMaxstillheldthehand.Helookeddownatwhatheheld.

Itwasn’tThePenguin’shand.ItwasFred’s.

The circus gang laughed as if this were the funniest thing in the world. Max gingerly let go of the

handandletitfalltothetable.

Afteraminute,Maxlaughed,too,likehislifedependedonit.

CHAPTERTWELVE

ax was back in the open, out in Gotham Plaza, just like he had been the day before. Except that

everythinghadchanged.Thebusinessmansmiledandwavedtothecrowd,andprayedthateverything
wentaccordingtoplan.

Thistime,therewasn’tmuchofacrowdbeyondafewcuriosityseekers.Thesmallerstoresherehad

allbeentrashed.EvenShreck’sDepartmentStorehadsustainedsomedamage.Fornow,theshoppers
wouldhavetogoelsewhere.ButintheirplacewerealltheTVnews-camswiththeircrewsandwell-
groomedon-the-spotreporters.

And the Mayor was here as well. That was one thing you could depend on with His Honor the

Mayor;henevermissedaphotoopportunity.AndwhenMaxsuggestedthattheMayormightbringhis
wifeandinfantsonalongsothathecouldmakeapointaboutfamilysafety,HisHonorhadleaptatthe
suggestion. So it was that Max solemnly walked beside the Mayor and his family, all four of them
caughtintheglowofTVlights,whiletheMayortalkedatnever-endinglengthtoreporters,andMax
waitedtoseeifallthiswouldwork.Theypausedbeforethespeaker’splatform.

“Itellyouthis,”theMayorwascurrentlyremarkinginthemostcommittedoftones,“notjustasan

official,butasahusbandandfather.”Heraisedawarningfingerabovehisheadtodrivehomehispoint.
“Lastnight’seruptionoflawlessnesswillneverhapp—”

An acrobat somersaulted from behind the ravaged Christmas tree, straight for the Mayor’s wife,

snatchingthebabyfromherarmswithasinglefluidmotion.Thecircusperformerleaptbackontothe
platform,andheldthebabyaloftasifhewereacceptinganaward.

“I’mnotoneforspeeches,”heremarkedwithabroadgrin,“soI’lljustsay‘Thanks!’”

TheMayorlungedfortheacrobat,whocalmlykickedHisHonorinthechest.HisHonorcrumpledas

theacrobatjumpedfromtheplatformandracedthroughtheastonishedcrowduntil—

Hecatapultedhimselfintoanopenmanhole.

Maxpushedhiswayforwardasthecrowdgatheredaroundthedarkholeinthestreet.Therewasa

momentofsilence,thennoiseeruptedfrombelow.

“Hey!” someone yelled from down below. “Oww! Get away! Ouch!” The cries of pain were

accompaniedbyaheavythumpingsound,asifsomeonewasbeingsoundlythrashed.

Thecrowdgaspedastheacrobat,batteredandbruisedwithclothingtorn,draggedhimselffromthe

manholeandranratherunsteadily—butstillveryquickly—awaythroughthethrong.

Noonethoughttostophim.Henolongerheldthebaby.Andtherewassomethingelsedowninthat

manhole.

“Standback!”someoneinthecrowdyelled.

“MyGod,look!”anothervoicecried.

For, out of the darkness, the Mayor’s child was being raised up into the light. The crowd gasped.

How could such a thing be? It was almost magic. But no, he was being held aloft by someone—or
something.

Aflipperemergedfromthemanhole,followedbytheportlyvisageofThePenguin!

Thecrowdcheered.

ThePenguinsmiled.

Maxhadtoadmit,itcouldn’thavegonebetterifhehadplannedithimself.

Which,afterall,hehad.

Alfredhadpausedinhishangingofornamentsonthetree.Itwasobviousfromhisexpressionthathe
didn’tbelievethis.Butthen,BruceWaynedidn’tbelieveiteither.

“Thismorning’smiracle,”themanonthescreenintonedsolemnly.“Gothamwillneverforget.”

TheTVshowedtheabductionoftheMayor’sbaby,andthesupposedmiracleofhisrescuebyThe

Penguin, who rose out of the sewer on top of the strangest of vehicles, a contraption that looked like
nothingsomuchasalargerubberduck.Thecamerazoomedinontherescuer.

“That’s him,” the announcer continued as if he saw large duck vehicles every day. “The shadowy,

much rumored penguin man of the sewers, arisen. Until today, he’d been another tabloid myth,
alongsidetheAbominableSnowmanandtheLochNessMonster.”

The Mayor’s wife was in tears as she grabbed her baby back. She swallowed hard, but somehow

managedtoembracetheman,orwhateveritwas,calledThePenguin,whocertainlylookedasifhehad
spenthislifeinthesewers,andnodoubtsmelledaccordingly.ThePenguin,forhispart,blinkedasifhe
couldnotgetusedtothebrightnessofthelight.

“But now,” the announcer again remarked, “this bashful man-beast can proudly take his place

alongsideourownlegendaryBatman.”

TheMayorreachedouttoshakeThePenguin’shand.Butsomehow,MaxShreckhadgotteninthe

way,andnowstoodbeamingbyThePenguin,pattinghimheartilyontheback.

“Gotham’s leading citizen, Max Shreck,” the announcer droned on, “had been on a fact-finding

missioninGothamPlaza.”

Shreck bent down to whisper something encouraging in The Penguin’s ear. The Penguin,

embarrassed,tookalittlebow.Thecrowdcheeredwildly.Loudspeakersintheplazabegantoplay“Joy
totheWorld.”

TheTVpictureshiftedtoaliveinterviewwiththenewhero.ThePenguinshieldedhiseyeswitha

small,frayedumbrellaashespokeinashyandhaltingvoice:

“AllIwantinreturn”—heblinkedatthecamera—“isthechanceto—tofindmyfolks.Findoutwho

theyare—andthusly,whoIam—and,then,withmyparents,just—trytounderstandwhy”—hepaused
totakearaggedbreath—“whytheydidwhatIguesstheyhadtodo,toachildwhowasbornalittle—
different.AchildwhospenthisfirstChristmas,andmanysince,inasewer.”

Hisparents,Brucethought.

Mother.Father.Ascream.Agunshot.Losttohimforever.

“Mr.Wayne,”Alfredremarkedsoftly.“Issomethingwrong?”

Brucelookeduptowherethebutlerhadreturnedtotrimmingthetree.Bruceshookhishead,asmuch

toclearitastoindicatethenegative.

“No,nothing,”hebegan,“ah—hisparents—I—”Hetookadeepbreath.“Ihopehefindsthem.”

Alfredheartilyagreedashereturnedtohistree-trimmingduties.Bruceturnedbacktothetelevision.

SoThePenguinhadlosthismotherandfather.Ormaybe,hismotherandfatherhadlosthim.

MaxsmiledmostpleasantlyfromwherehestoodwithintheentrywayoftheGothamHallofRecords.
A short flight of steps beyond, a whole cordon of police held back dozens of reporters, hungry for a
story.

“Whatdoyouthinkhe’lldotohismomanddadwhenhefindsthem?”areporteraskednearthedoor.

“Whatwouldyoudotoyourmaandpa,”anotherreporterrepliedsarcastically,“iftheyflushedyou

downthepoop-chute?”

Somehow, one of the reporters had gotten around the cordon, and was quietly mounting the steps.

Maxsnappedhisfingers,andapairofhispersonalShrecksecurityguardssteppedbyhimtointercept
theintruder.

Theygrabbedthereporterbytheelbows.

“Mr.Penguinisnottobedisturbed,”oneoftheguardsremarkedasheturnedthereporterbackdown

thesteps.

“The Hall of Records is a public place!” the reporter yelled back in professional outrage. “You’re

violatingtheFirstAmendment,abridgingthefreedomofthepress—”

Thishadgonefarenough.Maxwavedforhisownphalanxofreporterstofollowhimoutside.Now

he’dgivethemthestoryhe’dpromised.

Ashesteppedforward,hewavedtotheguardstolettheirescortstayonthestepsforthemoment.

“What about the freedom to rediscover your roots,” Max asked the angry reporter as all the other

newsmenaroundhimjotteddownhiseveryword,“withdignity,inprivacy?”

Theonceangryreportersmiled.Hesensedastory.

“What’sthedeal,Mr.Shreck?”HethrusthishandheldtaperecorderstraightatMax.“IsThePenguin

apersonalfriend?”

“Yes,”Maxrepliedsoberly,“he’sapersonalfriend—ofthiswholecity.Sohaveaheart,buddy.”He

reached forward and hit the stop button on the reporter’s recorder. “And give the Constitution a rest,
okay?It’sChristmas.”

Thereweresomanyrecords,somuchtodo.

The Penguin sat at a great table in the cavernous main hall of the records building, surrounded by

hundredsofthousandsofbirthcertificates.AndThePenguinhadtolookateveryone.

Occasionally, he would find what he wanted, and jot it down on a legal pad. He was only vaguely

awareofthenoisesoutside,ofacrowdofreportersshoutingquestionsandcallinghisname.Thiswork
wasfartooimportanttobedistractedbysuchcommonconcerns.

Butdayended,andasthenightdescended,thereportersleftatlast.Still,ThePenguinworkedbythe

light of a single lamp, flipping through the certificates, and jotting down names, boys’ names, on his
legalpads.Hehadalreadyfilledatallstackofthesepadswithnames,buthisworkwasnotyetdone.

Afterall,thiswasonlythebeginningofThePenguin’srevenge.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

twasfartooquiet.

He guided the Batmobile down the deserted streets of Gotham City. Over the past couple of days,

therehadbeenalmostacompletehaltinheavy-dutycrime;notasinglebankheist,onlyonebungled
attempttoholdupaconveniencestore,hardlyevenanymurders.ItwasasifthecriminalsofGotham
Citywerestayingoffthestreets,waitingforsomethingreallybig.

Alightflashedontheconsoleinfrontofhim.Alfredwascalling.Batmanpressedabutton,andthe

butler’sfacelitupasmallvideoscreenbythewheel.

“The city’s been noticeably quiet since the thwarted baby-napping, yet still you patrol,” Alfred

announcedinthatdisapprovingwayhehad.“Whatabouteating?Sleeping?Youwon’tbemuchgoodto
anyoneelseifyoudon’tlookafteryourself.”

“The Red Triangle Circus Gang” was Batman’s terse reply. “They’re jackals, Alfred. They hunt in

packs,atnight—”

Heglancedoutthewindshield.Hehadalmostreachedhisdestination.

“Are you concerned about that strange heroic Penguin person?” Alfred asked in his dry British

manner.

Batman laughed. He pulled the Batmobile up in front of the Gotham Hall of Records. Two men, a

policeman and a Shreck security guard, stood to either side of the entryway, or, to be more accurate,
theyslumped,sincebothappearedtobedozing.

Batmanlookedupatthesinglelitwindowwithinthehall.WhywasThePenguinstillinside?

“Funnyyoushouldask,Alfred,”hesaidtothebutler.“MaybeIamabitconcerned.”

Well, now, this was quite a turnout. Not only was the press out in force—but then, these days, they
followedThePenguineverywhere—buttherewasahugecrowdofthegeneralpublicaswell,including
asmallnumberofyoungwomendressedinblack.Whowerethey?Penguingroupies?Ifhehadknown
thissortofthingwasgoingtohappen,hewouldhavecomeoutofthesewerssooner.Now,ifhecould
only determine some way that he could show his appreciation for these fine, nubile young women
withoutthepressnosingaround.Ahwell.Allthingsintheirtime.Atthismoment,hehadotherfishto
swallow.

ThepoliceonceagainformedalivingchaintokeepthecuriousawayasThePenguinstrodeforward

onto the tiny, private cemetery plot tucked in a forgotten corner of Gotham. The well-manicured
headstone he sought was immediately ahead, with separate inscriptions for Tucker and Esther
Cobblepot, his very dearly departed father and mother. It was a shame that they both had to die so

young.Andsomysteriously.

ThePenguinfelltohiskneesinfrontofthemarkers,andreachedwithinonefrayedsleevetopullout

apairofrosesthat,frankly,werealittletheworseforwear.Oh,well,nomatter.Itwasthesentiment
thatcounted.And,byThePenguin’scount,therewereatleastadozenTVandfilmcamerasrecording
this sentiment at this very moment. And there was no way anyone could ever count all the news
cameras.

The Penguin stood, and thought he saw a couple of his groupies swoon at the great emotion of his

actions.Ah,yes,hewouldliketogetoneortwoofthoselittlechicksalone.Butnothere.Notnow.

Instead, he walked back toward the crowd of reporters. One obnoxious example of the profession

pushedforwardfromhisfellows.

“So,”thereporterbegan,“Mr.Penguin—”

The Penguin held up his umbrella in protest. “A ‘penguin’ is a bird that cannot fly,” he remarked

sternlyyetsadly.“Iamaman.Ihaveaname.It’sOswaldCobblepot.”Oratleastitwasnowhisname
wheneveritsuitedhim.

“Mr. Cobblepot!” the reporter continued, unfazed. He waved toward the grave of The Penguin’s

parents.“You’llnevergetachancetosettlewiththem,huh?”

Thecrowdgaspedattheeffronteryofthereporter.My,ThePenguinthought,itwascertainlygoodto

havethemassesonhisside.Hetwirledhisumbrellapensivelyforamomentbeforehereplied.

“True,Iwastheirnumberoneson”—heglancedbackpensivelyatthetwinheadstones—“andthey

treated me like number two. But it’s human nature to fear the unusual—even with all their education
andprivilege.Mydad,adistrictattorney,motheractiveintheDAR;perhaps,whenIheldmyTiffany
babyrattlewithashinyflipper,theyfreaked.”

Hepausedandturnedtothecrowdbeforehecontinued.

“ButIforgivethem.”

Thecrowdcheeredonemoretime.Hehadtheminthepalmofhishand.

Orshouldthatbethepalmofhisflipper?

AllofGothamCitywastalkingaboutThePenguin.

“Penguinforgivesparents!”thepaperboycalled.“Readallaboutit!‘I’mfullyatpeacewithmyself

andtheworld!’Getyourpaper!”

AndGothamCityresponded,grabbingthenewsprintassoonasthepaperscouldbedroppedfromthe

trucks.Everybodystoppedwhatevertheyweredoingtoreadthecharmingnews.

“‘Youdon’tneedhandsaslongasyou’vegotheart,’”quotedonefromthepaperbeforehim.

“‘Myheartisfilledwithlove,’”asecondreadaloud.“‘Ifeelfivefeettall.’”

“He’slikeafrog,”anotherexclaimed,“thatbecameaprince!”

“No,actuallyhe’smorelikeapenguin,”another,calmerheadreplied.

Acouplepassednearby,talkingasanimatedlyaseveryoneelse.“Abandonedpenguinsfromtheold

ArcticWorldraisedhim!”

“Makesyourememberthetruemeaningoftheholiday,”thewomanchimedin.“Thelove,thegiving

—”

Maxchuckled.He’dbeeninthatArcticWorld,thatoldleftoverpavilionfromsomeworld’sfairor

wonders-of-tomorrowtechnologyexhibition.Maxshouldprobablyreadapapertofindoutwhichone.
ThereusedtobealotofthatsortofthingaroundGothamCity,backwhenordinarypeoplehadmoney.

ButthatsamepavilionwasThePenguin’shideoutnow,andtheplacewherehehidtheRedTriangle

CircusGang.ThemainthingMaxrememberedabouttheplacewasthesmell.

Still, the way the Gothamites were grabbing papers, his plan had worked, and then some. He just

hopedthatThePenguinwouldbesufficientlygratefulwhenthetimecame.Afterall,Maxmightberich
—buthecouldalwaysgetricher.

BruceWaynehadsomereadingtodo.

Hestudiedthefrontpageofthenewspaperprojectedonthevideoscreenbeforehim;thepagewas

oldandyellowedbutstillveryreadable.Hehadinstalledthisspecialcomputerizedmicrofichereaderin
theBatcaveforjustthissortofinstantaccesstohistory.

Hepressedabuttonontheconsolebeforehim.Thereaderjumpedtothenextpage.

“‘RedTriangleCircusputonaswellshowlastnight,withfiercelions...’”hereadaloudfromthe

screenbeforehim.No,therewasnothingofvalueinthisarticle.Hequicklyhitthecorrectcombination
ofkeys,andthecommandappearedatthetopofthescreen:

CONTINUESEARCHFOR

REDTRIANGLE

Hewaitedafewsecondsasbackissuesblurredbybeforeanotherpapercameintofocus.

“‘TriangleCircushasreturnedforatwo-week...’”Bruceread,“‘kidswilllove...’”

Itwasstilltooearlyinthecircus’scareer,beforetheyhadturnedtoalifeofcrime,or,morelikely,

beforethepolicehaddiscoveredit.

HehitthesearchkeyagainasAlfredenteredtheroom.Thebutlerhadbroughthimhissupperona

tray.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce murmured as the butler placed the tray upon a table by his side. Alfred

smiledandnoddedhisreply.

Brucepickedupaspoonandtookasipofthesoup.Heblinkedinsurprise.

“It’scold,”hetoldAlfred.

Thebutlernoddedagain,asifthisnewswasnosurprisetohim.“It’svichyssoise,sir.”

Bruce looked at the soup before him. “Vichyssoise.” Oh. “Supposed to be cold, right?” Foolish of

himtothinkAlfredmighthavemadeamistake.Buthehadtogetbacktohissearch.

“Mr.Wayne,”Alfredremarkedgently.“Doesthephrase‘Christmasholiday’holdanyresonancefor

you?”

Brucelaughed.Hegrabbedoneofthedata-codedCDsfromhisdeskandlobbedittotheotherman,

lettingitsailthroughtheairlikeaFrisbee.

“Listentoyourself,Alfred,”hetoldthebutler.“Hasslingmeyesterday,inmycar.”

AlfreddutifullyplacedtheCDinanearbyplayer.Aninstantlater,hecouldhearhisownvoice:

“Whatabouteating?Sleeping?Youwon’tbemuchgoodtoanyoneelseif—”

Brucepickeduptheremoteandturnedtheplayeroff.

“Ilearnedtolivewithoutamotheralongtimeago,thanks,”headded.Alfredraisedaneyebrow,but

didnototherwiserespond.

Verywell,Brucethought.Ifhecouldn’tgettheoldfellowtolistentoreason,hewouldsimplyignore

him.Heturnedbacktohisreading.

“‘TriangleCircusisback,’”hereadaloud,“‘Withafreakshowthatmaynotbesuitableforyour

kids,featuringabeardedlady,theworld’sfattestman,andanaquaticbirdboy.’”

HeturnedtoAlfredintriumph.Thereitwas.Exactlythesortofthinghewaslookingfor.

Alfredstilldidnotappearimpressed.“WhyareyounowdeterminedtoprovethatthisPenguin—er,

Mr.Cobblepot—isnotwhatheseems?Mustyoubetheonlylonely‘man-beast’intown?”

Bruce’sonlyanswerwastoreadachoicepartofthenextarticlealoud:

“‘Circusfoldeditstentsyesterday,perhapsforever.Afternumerousreportsofmissingchildrenin

several towns, police have closed down the Red Triangle’s fairgrounds. However, at least one freak-
showperformervanishedbeforehecouldbequestioned.’”

There!Alfredhadtoseetheconnectionnow.Bruceturnedtohisservantwithatriumphantgrin.

“Isupposeyoufeelbetternow,sir,”Alfredremarkeddryly.

Didhe?Brucethoughtaboutit.WhatsatisfactionwouldhegetfrominformationthatThePenguin

wasprobablyaviciouscriminalplottingsomethingagainstGothamCity?Itcertainlywasn’treassuring.

“No,”Bruceadmitted,“actuallyIfeelworse.”

Thetwomenregardedeachotherforalongmomentinsilence.Afterall,whatelsecouldbesaid?

Alfredfrownedathisemployer.

“Eatyourvichyssoise,”heinstructed.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

newayoranother,Selinawouldfinishthis.Unlessitfinishedherfirst.Herpenspedacrossthepage

of the pad in front of her. She already had twelve other pages of notes that she had made from the
computerfiles,andallthosepageswereinshorthand.Shewasalmostdone,though.Onemorefileto
browsethrough,andthenshecouldgobackoverhernotestoseeiftheymadeanysense.

Her pen stopped, and so did her heart, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see

Max grinning down at her. This late at night? Something must be wrong. Max Slavemaster never
workedaftersix.

“Workinglate?”Maxaskedsolicitously.“I’mtouched.”

“No,” Selina replied under her breath, “I am.” She quickly added in her official executive assistant

voice,“Well,I’mboningupforyourBruceWaynemeetinginthemorning.”

Maxstilldidn’tlookconvinced.Heneverrealizedhowhardsheworked.Well,thistimeshewould

tellhim,ineverygorydetail.

“I pulled all the files on the proposed power plant,” she continued, “and Mr. Wayne’s hoped-for

investment.”Shepointedtothepagesofshorthandinfrontofher.“I’vestudieduponallofit.Ieven
openedtheprotectedfilesand—”

Forthefirsttimesinceshehadbegunherdescription,Maxlookedimpressed.

“Why, how industrious,” he remarked with a smile. “And how did you open protected files, may I

ask?”

“Well,”Selinareplied,gladtobeonherboss’sgoodsideforachange,“Ifiguredthatyourpassword

was ‘Finster.’ Your Chihuahua. And it was.” People always used the names of kids and pets as
passwords;itwasoneofthefirstthingsyoulearnedasanadministrativeassistant.

Sheglancedbackathernotesagain.“Andit’sallveryinteresting,thoughabitonthetechnicalside,I

meanhowthepowerplantisapowerplantinnameonlysinceinfactit’sgoingtobeonegiant—”

Whatwastheword?SheglancedupatMax,butheonlygaveheranodofencouragement.

“A big giant capacitor,” she continued as soon as she found the reference. “And that, instead of

generatingpower,it’llsortofbe”—thisiswherehernotes,ortheconceptsbehindthem,startedtoget
confusing—“suckingpowerfromGothamCityandstoringit—stockpilingit,sortof?Whichisavery
novelapproach,I’dsay.”

Shelookedbackuptoherboss.

“Andwho,”herepliedsmoothly,“wouldyousaythisto?”

Withthat,hecalmlylitamatchandsetfiretohernotes.

Selinaswallowed.Perhapsshehadoversteppedherauthority.

“Well,”shereplied,hopingfortherightanswer,“—um—nobody?”

Maxdroppedtheburningnotepadintothetrash.Selinadidnotlikehiscurrentsmileonebit.

“Whatdidcuriositydotothecat?”Maxaskedmuchtoogently.Hetookasteptowardher.

“I’mnocat,”Selinarepliedquickly,althoughatthemomentshewishedshecouldbeassmall,andas

swift,asone.“I’mjustanassistant,”sheadded.Totallyunimportant.Paynoattentiontolittleoldme.
“Asecretary—”

“Andavery,verygoodone,”Maxagreedashecontinuedhisapproach.

“Toogood?”Selinaguessed.

Maxnoddedalltooreadily.Whywasthisthetime,afterallthosescrewups,thatshehadtoberight?

Selina took a step away. “It’s our secret,” she said brightly. “Honest. How can you be so mean to

someonesomeaningless?”

“Thepowerplantistobemypyramid,”Maxrepliedwithachillingconviction.“Mycathedral,my

legacytoChip.Nothingmustpreventthat.”

Selina’s back hit the plate-glass window. There was nowhere else for her to go. But Max kept on

coming.

Thiswasalltoomuch,Selinathought.Shewasabouttogetfrightenedhalfoutofherskull.Whodid

thisShreckguythinkhewas,afterall?

“Okay,”shesaid,tryingtosoundfirm,“goahead.Intimidateme.Bullyme,ifitmakesyoufeelbig.I

mean,it’snotlikeyoucanjustkillme!”

Maxshookhisheadsadly.“Actually,it’salotlikethat.”

Selinastaredathim.Whatdidhemeanbythat?

Maxsmiled.

Selinawipedatearoffrightfromhercheek.Whatarelief.

“Forasecond,”shesaidtoMax,“youreallyfrightened—”

Maxgrabbedherandsavagelypushedherthroughtheplateglass.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

hewasfalling.Downthroughthedarknessandtheswirlingsnow.Itwassobeautiful.Ifyouhadto

die,maybethiswasthewaytodoit.

Sheheardcanvasripasshefellthroughanawning.Shecouldn’tfeelanythinganymore.Thenshehit

asecondawning,andathird,allthefrontsofthefancymultistoriedGothamPlaza.Theyhadslowed
herfall,but—

Shewassurroundedbycold,andwhite.Shemusthavefallenintosnow.Shehadnobreathleftinher.

“Helpme—”shemanaged.“Somebody—”Someonewarmandloving,someoneaboveallthis.

“MissKitty—”shecalled.

Herworldwentfromwhitetoblack.

Whathadhedone?

Thepowerplantwasimportanttohimandhisfutureplans,certainly.Freeelectricpowerwouldbe

indispensable in his plans to undercut his competitors, especially as foreign investment drove this
countrytoitscollectiveknees.Nomatterwhowonthatbattle,theShreckswouldsurvive.

But perhaps he felt too strongly about that survival, to do something like this. Max shivered as he

lookedouttheremainsofthewindow.Hewouldhavetoconcoctastory.Andtheywouldcertainlyhave
todosomethingaboutthebrokenglass.

He turned and saw Chip standing in the doorway. Max would have to come up with a story even

soonerthanhehadthought.

“It—itwasterrible,”hestumbled.“Ileanedover—andaccidentallyknockedher—out—”

Chipnoddedsympathetically.“Shejumped,”hecorrectedhisfather.“She’dbeendepressed.”

Max stared at his son for an instant before he realized what was going on. “Yes. Yes,” he agreed

heartily.Thatwasitexactly.“Boyfriendtrouble?”hesuggested.

Chipshookhishead.“P.M.S.,”hestateddecisively.Heturnedandwalkedfromtheroom.

Maxcouldonlystareafterhiminadmiration.Nowtherewasason!

There are certain things that go beyond rational explanation. One of them is the connection felt
sometimes between two spirits, lovers, perhaps, who can sense each other’s thoughts when they are
apart; or a parent who knows something has happened to a child half a world away. But these
connectionsarenotlimitedtohumansalone.

Sometimes,atmomentsofextremestressorperil,theyareevensharedbetweenhumanandanimal.

Masterandpet,ifyouwill,althoughtherealdynamicisfarmorecomplicatedthanthat.

ThewomanwhowasSelinaKylewouldhavethesethoughtslater,aftershewasrescued.

Atthatmoment,though,shelayhalf-conscious,batteredandbruisedandabouttofreezetodeathin

thesnow.Itwouldbesoeasy,shethought,todriftofftosleep,andmaybetosleepforever.

Somethingkeptherfromfallingintothatfinalsleep.Therewerenoises,animalnoises.Thesoundof

cats.

MissKitty?

Butitwasfarmorethanonecat.Fromallthemeowsandpurrsthatsurroundedher,shemustbein

themiddleofanarmyofcats,asifthewholefelinepopulationofGothamCityhadcometoherrescue.

Thatwasawfullyniceofthem.Shehadalwayslikedcats.Now,iftheywouldonlycalmdownsoshe

couldgetsomesleep.

But the cats wouldn’t leave her alone. Miss Kitty climbed upon her chest and breathed into her

mouth.ASiamesepurredmeaningfullyintoherear.Othercatsrubbedagainstherlegsandfeet.

Anoldtombitherfinger.

Hereyesflewopen.

Andsheunderstood.ShewasSelinaKylenomore.Shewasreborn.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

t seemed to take hours to get back to her apartment. Her bruises no longer mattered, nor her loss of

blood, nor even the cold of the winter night. She would never again be a meek, self-deprecating
administrativeassistant.

SheenteredherapartmentwithMissKittyinhand,butthisplacenolongersuitedhermood;itdidn’t

speakofherawakening.Therewouldhavetobeafewchangestothisplace.

Soshesettowork,withblackspraypaint,endingthepinkandeggshelldecorofwallsandfloorand

couch.Itwasstillnotenough.Shegrabbedherstuffedanimalsandfedthesmalleronestothegarbage
disposal.Thelargeroneshadtobedoneinwithknives.Aknittingneedleeffectivelyruinedtheperfect
orderofthedollhouse.

And,afterthat,sheusedsomeinterestingblackscrapstosewaveryspecialoutfit.Andclaws;she

needed claws! Well, why not make them from common household implements? It was amazing how
easilythingsfoundaroundthekitchencouldbeturnedintodeadlyweapons.

Miss Kitty roamed about the apartment, full of purrs and imperious meows, approving of every

change.

Now,therewasonefinaltask.Withherbarehands,shetoreatthecheerfulneonsign,removingthose

twomostcrucialletters,sothatwhatonceread“HELLOTHERE”wastransformedtosomethingmuch
moreappropriate:

“HELLHERE.”

Foritwouldbehellforallthosewhohadwrongedher.

Withthat,shesatdownuponthefloorinhernew,specialclothes,andwatchedthesunrise,forher

workhadtakentherestofthenight.MissKittypurredatherfeet.Shethoughtthecatdeservedalittle
rewardaftersomuchwork,andfetchedherabowlfullofmilk.Sheplacedthebowlbeforeherfeline
saviorandexpressedherselfforthefirsttimeinanewvoicethatspokeofapowerandgraceshehad
neveradmittedtoinherearlierlife.

“Idon’tknowaboutyou,MissKitty,”shesaidsoftlybutfirmly,“butIfeel—so—much—yummier.”

Andwiththat,shestretchedouttoreachtherisingsun;stretchedoutjustlikeacat.

BruceWaynemovedquicklythroughGothamPlaza.Itwasstillamess.Agroupofworkmenforlornly
tried to shore up a bullet-ridden Christmas tree that seemed obviously beyond saving, while others
boardedupthewindowsoftheburnt-outstores.Heknewsomeofthoseplaceswantedtoopenbefore
Christmas.Rightnow,itlookedhopeless.

Bruce stepped forward to shake hands. He also took this opportunity to study the window more

closely.

“Hmm,”hegrunted.“Primitiveventilation.”

“Damn those Carny Bolsheviks the other night,” Max responded quickly, “throwing bricks at my

window—”

“No,”Brucedisagreed.Hepointedtotheevidenceonthecarpet.Orratherthelackofevidence.“No

glassontheinside.”

Max frowned at the carpet, looking a little uncomfortable. “Weird, huh?” he said after a moment.

“Uh,whydon’twegointotheconferenceroom?”

“It’slesswellventilated,”Chipaddedhelpfully.

BruceagreedandallowedMaxtoleadtheway.Theysteppedthroughaseconddoorwayintoaroom

dominatedbyalarge,circularconferencetable.MaxindicatedthatBruceshouldtakeaseat.Oncehis
guestwasseated,thebusinessmansatdownattheoppositesideofthetable.

“I’dofferyoucoffee,”heexplainedhurriedly,“butmyassistantisusinghervacationtime.”

“Goodtime,too,”Bruceagreed.Hepursedhislipsasheadded,“Everyonebutthebanditsseemtobe

slackingoffuntilNewYear’s.”

Max turned to stare at Bruce. “Not sure I like the inference, Bruce,” he said with a smile. “I’m

pushingthispowerplantnowbecauseit’llcostmorelater.”HeshookanauthoritativefingerinBruce’s
direction.“Timeismoney,lifeisshort,andamillionsavedisamillionearned.”

Brucesnappedopenthebriefcasethathehadsetdownontheconferencetable.“Icommissionedthis

report,”heannouncedmatter-of-factly.“Thoughtyoushouldseeit.”

HehandedittoMax,whoflippedthroughitasifhereallywasn’tinterested.

Bruce had had enough of this playing around. “Here’s the point, Max,” he said candidly. “Gotham

Cityhasapowersurplus.I’msureyouknowthat.Sothequestionis,What’syourangle?”

Max jumped back to his feet. “ ‘A power surplus’?” he exclaimed as if those were dirty words.

“Bruce,shameonyou—nosuchthing!Onecanneverhavetoomuchpower!”

Chip,standingbehindhisfather,rapidlynoddedhisagreement.

“Ifmylifehasanymeaning,”Maxinsisted,“that’sthemeaning.”

“Max,”Brucerepliedfirmly,“I’mgonnafightyouonthis.ThemayorandIhavealreadyspokenand

weseeeyetoeyehere.So—”

“Mayors come and go,” Max shot back. “And heirs tire easily.” He put up his dukes and threw a

punchattheair.“ReallythinkaflyweightlikeyoucouldlastfifteenroundswithMuhammadShreck?”

“Guess we’ll find out, Max,” Bruce agreed noncommittally. “Of course, I don’t have a crime boss

likeCobblepotinmycorner.”

Heshuthisbriefcaseandstood.

“Crime boss?” Max shouted. He laughed harshly. “Shows what you know, Mr. To-the-manor-born-

with-a-silver-spoon.OswaldisGotham’snewGoldenBoy!”

“Oswald controls the Red Triangle Circus Gang,” Bruce shot back. “I can’t prove it, but we both

knowit’strue.”

“Wayne,”Maxinsisted,“I’llnotstandformud-slinginginthisoffice.Ifmyassistantwerehere,she’d

alreadyhaveescortedyouout,to—”

“Whereverhewants,”afemalevoiceinterrupted.

Bruceturnedtoseeawomanentertheroom.Andwhatawoman.Shewasveryfashionablydressed,

withahaircutthatframedandhighlightedherface.Theonlythingoutofplacewasabandageonher
hand.Shewasveryattractive,andalsosomehowfamiliar.

“Preferably some nightspot, grotto, or secluded hideaway,” she continued as she sashayed into the

room.ShesmiledatBruce.“Nicesuit.”

Ofcourse!Brucethought.TheyhadmetinGothamPlazatheotherday.Shewasthatsamewoman

the clown had seized as a hostage. She had seemed so uncertain, then, compared with the way she
lookedathimnow.

Their eyes had met for an instant the other day. She looked nice then. Their eyes met again. She

lookedevennicernow.

Brucesmiledback.

“Selina?”Maxlookedasifhehadseenaghost.“Selina—Selina—”Hesoundedlikeanoldrecord,

stuckinasinglegroove.

“That’smyname,Maxamillions,”thewomanrepliedwiththeslightestofsmiles.“Don’twearitout,

babe,orI’llmakeyoubuymeanewone.”

Maxblinkedandshookhishead,asiftoclearitoferrantthoughts.“Uh—Selina,thisis—uh—Bruce

Wayne.”

“We’vemet,”Brucerepliedsuavely.

Selinalookedtheslightestbitconfused.“Havewe?”

Bruce’ssmilefalteredasherealizedthatshehadn’tmethimatall.ShehadmetBatman.

“Sorry,”hesaidquickly.“Imistookmeforsomebodyelse.”

“Youmeanmistookme?”Selinacorrected.

“Didn’tIsaythat?”Bruceasked.

“Yesandno,”sherepliedwithanotherofthosefabuloussmiles.Butherhandwasbandaged.Bruce

steppedforwardandgentlytookthathandwithhisown.

“Whathappened?”heasked.

“Yes,did—”Maxhurriedlyinterrupted,“didyouinjureyourselfonthatskislope?Isthatwhyyou

cutshortyourvacationandcameback?”Hesmiledather.Somehow,Brucethought,thesmiledidnot
lookatallpleasant.

Selinashruggedwiththeslightestoffrowns.“Maybethatbrokenwindowovertherehadsomething

todowithit—ormaybenot.It’sblurry.”Shebitherlipslightly.Brucethoughtshelookedevenbetter
whenshebitherlip.

“I mean,” she continued after a moment’s pause, “it’s not complete amnesia.” She frowned, then

continued tentatively. “I—remember Sister Mary-Margaret puking in church, and Becky Riley said it
was morning sickness.” Her smile returned as she talked. “And I remember the time I forgot to wear
underpants to school, and the name of the boy who noticed—Ricky Friedberg!” Her smile had
transformedintothelargestofgrins.“He’sdeadnow.”SheglancedatMax.“Butlastnight?”Sheshook
herhead.“Completeandtotalblur.”

Maxstillsmiled,althoughnowtheexpressionseemedalittlefrightened.“Selina,”heremarkedashe

glancedathisson.“PleaseshowoutMr.Wayne.”

SelinasmiledatBruceagainandturnedtoleadhimtotheelevator.Brucedecidedhecouldfollow

heranywhere.Buttheelevatorswereonlytwoshortroomsaway.Muchtooshorttohaveanysortof
meaningfulconversation.

Selina turned to him once they were both out in the hall. “You don’t seem like the type that does

businesswithMr.Shreck,”shesaidfrankly.

“No,”Bruceagreed.“Andyoudon’tseemlikethetypetotakeordersfromhim.”

Therewasthatsmileagain.“Well,that’sa—longstory.”

“Well,”Brucevolunteered.“Icouldfreeupsometime.”

Selinagazedintohiseyes.

“I’mlisted.”

Brucegazedbackintohers.

“I’mtempted.”

Selinatookastepbacktowardtheconferenceroom.

“I’mworking.”

Brucetookastepawaytowardtheelevators.

“I’mleaving.”

Shedisappeared,backintotheofficesofMaxShreckandCompany.Bruceturnedtotheelevator.

“Se—li—na,”hemurmured.

Hepressedthedownbuttononceforeachsyllable.

Thecararrived.Shewaslisted.Hesteppedinside.He’dhavetogiveheracall.Except—

Heleaptforward,forcingthedoorsapartbeforetheycouldclosecompletely.

Hewasmissingthemostimportantinformationofall.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

hewomanwhowasonceSelinahadtakenoffherbandage,andslowly,methodically,wassqueezing

bloodfromherfingerintothepercolatingcoffee.

So,Max.Wantsomemoreofmyblood?

Shelookedup,andsawBruceWaynewatchingher.

Shetriedtosmile.

“Pouringmyselfintomywork,”sheexplained.

Brucesmiledback.“I,ah,didn’tcatchyourlastname.”Justlikethat.Asifhesawpeopledripping

bloodintocoffeeeveryday.

“Oh,”shereplied.“Kyle.”

Sheputherlefthandtoherear,andmadeanexaggeratedcirclingmotionwithherrightindexlinger.

“Rhymeswithdial.”

Hegaveherathumbs-upanddisappeared.

Therewassomethingaboutthatman,shethought.Somethingthatalmostmadeherwanttogoback

tobeingplainoldSelinaKyle.

Shepurreddeepinherthroat.Almost,butnotquite.

Maxhadtoadmitit.ThisSelinathinghadhimspooked.Herdeathwouldhavebeensomuchsimpler.
Buthecouldn’tletthislittlesetbackdestroyhisconfidence.

ItwastimetocallThePenguin,andcheckuponOswald’snewhome.Not,ofcourse,thatOswald

Cobblepotknewanythingaboutitsrealpurpose.Yet.

Chiplookedathimashepickedupthephone.

“Youbuythis‘blurry’business?”hissonasked.

“Whoknows,”Maxrepliedashebegantodialthenumber.“Women.”Heglancedbackupathisson,

andhefinisheddialing.Thephoneontheotherendbegantoring.

Agruffvoiceanswered.

“Yeah,”Maxrepliedintothereceiver.“Oswald,please.”

HissonwavedinagreementandlefttheroomasMaxwaitedforThePenguin.

Thiswouldworkoutfine.

ThephoneranginThePenguin’swarehouse.

OswaldCobblepothadtoadmitit;Maxhadcomethroughonthisone.Hisnewheadquartershadtwo

differentfloors.Downstairswasbigandbrightlylitandstillunderconstruction,asifMaxwasplanning
togiveThePenguinsomesortofoffice.Nodoubtitwouldbeagoodplacetomeetthepublic,ifThe
Penguineverwantedtodothatsortofthing.

Upstairs, it was a different story: dirty, dingy, cluttered—a real working space. The Red Triangle

Circus Gang hung out up here, practicing their acts and generally acting rowdy. They had opened a
largeventilationductupherethatalsoopenedupattherearofthebuilding,sothatthegangmembers
couldcomeandgoatwillwithouttheembarrassmentofhavingtodealwiththoseboringlylegitimate
peopleonthefirstfloor.

AndThePenguinhadhislistofnames,allonthatpileofyellowlegalpads.Nowallhehadtodowas

cross-referenceeverysingleoneofthemagainstthewhitepagesofGothamphonebooks.Itwasnota
simplejob.

Thephonekeptonringing.

TheOrganGrindershooedhismonkeysawaytoanswerit.

“Yeah?”hesaid.HeheldthephoneouttowardThePenguin.“Foryou,boss.”

Now?ThePenguingrabbedthephoneandalmostgrowledintothereceiver.“Yeah?Whatisit?I’m

busyuphere.”

“Good,”Max’sall-too-cheerfulvoicegreetedhimontheline.“Staybusyupthere.Igotplansforus

below.”

Whatdidhemean?Downatthelowerlevelofhisnewheadquarters?Well,ThePenguinsupposed

sincehehadmadethedeal,hehadtoputupwithMax.Heneverrealizedhowmuchitwouldinterfere
withhisworkhere.

“Plans,”herepeatedhalfheartedly.“Swell.Later.”Heslammeddownthephone.He’ddealwithMax

atthepropertime.Fornow,hehadtofinishoffthephonebooksandhislist.

Itwasalotofwork,butbecauseofthis,hisfinalrevengewouldbethatmuchsweeter.Hereturnedto

matchingaddresseswitheverysinglename.

Afterall,allplayandnoworkmadeadullPenguin.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

twastimetoprowl.

Shecouldnolongerstayinherden,evenafterithadbeentransformed.Catsweremeanttoroamthe

night.

Sosheroamed.

Whatdidwehavehere?

The dirty streets of Gotham seemed to have coughed up some more of their scum. And who is it

today?Justyouraverage,garden-varietymugger,whohadgrabbedaprettyyoungwomananddragged
herbackintoanalley.

“Help,Batma—”thewomanbegan.

Batman?Isthatallthewomancouldthinkof?

“Now,now,”themuggersmirked,“prettyyoungthing,niceandeasy—”

Thevictimcoweredandheldoutherpurse.“Please.Don’thurtme.I’lldoanything—”

Theotherwomanhadhadquiteenoughofthis.

She leapt from the fire escape, landing squarely on the mugger’s back. He flew forward to the

ground.

“I just love a big strong man who’s not afraid to show it,” she mentioned as he rolled beneath her,

“withsomeonehalfhersize.”

Themuggerhadmanagedtorollontohisback.Hestaredupatherinastonishment.“Whothe—”he

began.

“Begentle,”shereplied.“It’smyfirsttime.”

Apparentlyhewasn’tlistening,becauseheleaptupwithagrowl,intentongrabbingher.

Shedartedoutoftheway,andgavehimasavagekick.Allthebreathlefthimashestaggeredback.

Hey,notbad,shethought.Butbeforehecouldrecover,itwastimeforthetalons.

Shejumpedforwardandsettoworkscratchinguphisface.

Themuggerscreamedandfelltotheasphalt.

“Tic—tac—toe,”shemurmuredintriumph.

Thevictimrusheduptoherside.

“Thankyou,”shegushed,“thankyou.Iwassoscared—”

Herdefenderhadhadenoughofthis,too.Shepushedthevictimbackagainstthewallwithoneofher

claws.

“Youmakeitsoeasy,don’tyou?”sheaskedindisgust.“Youpretty,patheticyoungthing?Always

waitingforsomeBatmantosaveyou.”

Thevictimcringedagain,quaking,expectingsomethingevenworse.

Sheleanedforwardtowhisperinthevictim’sear:“IamCatwoman.Hearmeroar.”

Andwiththat,Catwomanleaptaway,cartwheelingoutofthealleytodisappearintothenight.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

ithalltheseinterruptions,ThePenguinwouldneverfinish!

HelookeduptoseeMaxShrecksteppingbetweenthemembersoftheRedTriangleCircus,pastthe

TatooedStrongman,ripplingthosebellydancershehadtattooedonhisbiceps,stoppingtoletoneofthe
acrobatswalkpastonhishands.MaxgrinnedatThePenguin.Somehow,heseemedmuchtoocheerful
forabusinessman.

Maxnoddedatalltheperformersaroundthem.

“Ah,”heremarked,“your—extendedfamily.”

ThePenguinsighed.Maxwasleadinguptosomething.Hislistswouldhavetowaitfortheminute.

“Comeondownstairs,Oswald,”Maxurged.“Ihavea—surprise.”

ThePenguinscowled.“Idon’tlikesurprises.”Sometimes,ThePenguinstillthoughtitwasamistake

tocomeoutofthosesewers.

ButMaxwasinsistent.HewavedThePenguinawayfromhisdeskandtowardaspiralstairs.

Hesitantly,ThePenguinwalkedforward.Sofar,Maxhadmorethanhelduphispartofthebargain.

Andthebusinessmancertainlyknew,shouldanythinghappentoThePenguin,hiscircusfriendswere
verygoodatrevenge.

Sothishadtobesomethinggood.

Still,ThePenguinthoughtoficywaters.

“Don’twanttospoilit!”MaxexplainedashetriedtoputhishandsoverthePenguin’seyes.

The Penguin growled. Trusting people was one thing, but certain people were asking for it. Max

quicklypulledhishandsaway.

“Thencloseyoureyes,”Maxinsisted.

Oh, all right. The Penguin dutifully closed his eyes almost all the way as Max led him down the

stairs. This had better be good, or he’d let the circus gang practice on Max even earlier than he had
planned.

Heopenedhiseyeswhentheywentfromstairstoconcrete.

“Ta-da!”Maxannounced.

The Penguin looked around the storefront. It had been transformed from an old drugstore into

something bustling and cheerful, full of brand-new desks and state-of-the-art computers and smiling
college kids. The place had gotten a bright white coat of paint, too, after which the walls had been
covered with red, white, and blue bunting. But the most astonishing things here were the signs and
posters,thebiggestofwhichreadCOBBLEPOTFORMAYOR.

As if this wasn’t enough, there were posters taped all around, and every one had The Penguin’s

pictureonit,alongwiththewordsOZZIEVS.THEINSIDERS!

Everyonecheeredandapplauded.Max’sgringotevenbigger.

ThePenguinwasflabbergasted.

“But—”hebegan.“What—”headded.“I—Imean—”hetried.

Hedidn’tknowwhathemeant.

Whatwasgoingonhere?

“Yes,”Maxsaideffusively,“adulationisacrosstobear.GodknowsIknow.Butsomeone’sgotto

supplantourstanding-in-the-way-of-progressmayor,anddon’tdenyit,Mr.Cobblepot,yourcharismais
biggerthanbothofus!”

“Mayor?”ThePenguinreplied.

Maxsmiledandgrinned.“Mayor.”

Butthisdidn’tmakeanysense,eventosomebodywhohadlivedmostofhislifeinthesewers.

“Max,”hepointedout,“electionshappeninNovember.IsthisnotlateDecember?”

Max waved a well-dressed pair forward; so well-dressed that they smelled of money, and success,

and power. One man and one woman, both wearing appropriately dark-colored suits, both smiling
perfectlygleamingwhitesmiles.

TheymadeThePenguinnervous.

ThemanstaredcriticallyatThePenguinbeforehissmilereturned.

“Keeptheumbrella!”heannounced.“Worksforyou!I’mJosh.Here!”HeshovedsomethinginThe

Penguin’smouth.“Reclaimyourbirthright!”

ThePenguinglareddownatthenewobjectbetweenhislips.Itwasajet-blackcigaretteholder.The

womanwascirclinghimnow.ThePenguinwishedhewerebackupstairswithhisyellownotepads.

“I’m Jen,” she announced as she grabbed his sleeve. “Stand still for a second while I slip on these

littleglovethingies—”

Glovethingies?ThePenguinglancedoveratherhandiwork.Shewasratherattractiveunderthatsuit.

And he would certainly like to get under that suit. Her smile turned to a grimace as she touched his
flippers.Itwas,ThePenguinguessed,justthatspecialwayhehadwithwomen.

“Our research tells us that voters like fingers,” Jen explained as she slipped on the deep black

material.

ThePenguinfrownedathisnewgloves.Still,ifwomenlikedfingersratherthanflippers—

That Josh person, in the meantime, was fingering The Penguin’s coat. Now what was this guy’s

problem? Sure The Penguin’s clothes were worn, certainly they were tattered, and perhaps the fabric
had stood so much use that it had turned a bit shiny, but as far as The Penguin was concerned, these
clotheswereapartofhim.

“Notalotofreflectivesurfacesdowninthatsewer,huh?”Joshremarked.

Reflectivesurfaces?Oh,hemeantmirrors.Jenlaughed.ThePenguinlikedthewayshelaughed.He

laughed,too.Allthepeoplearoundthemstartedtolaughaswell.

“Still,”ThePenguinremarked,“itcouldbeworse.Mynosecouldbegushingblood.”

Joshfrownedatthat.“Yournosecould?Whatdoyoumean?”

SoThePenguinbithim,quickly,viciously,rightonthenose.Makefunofhim,wouldthey?Well,the

penguinswhohadraisedhimhadshownhimatrickortwo!

“Enough!”Maxcalled,pullingthetwocombatantsapart.“Everyone—”

HewavedthemallbacktoworkasJoshfaintedtothefloor.Thefellowhadnostaminaatall.Max

wouldhavetogetabettergradeofconsultantthanthattokeepupwithThePenguin!

Maxledtheshortmaninblackovertoaquietcorner.

“You’reright,”Maxadmittedwhentheycouldnotbeoverheard.“Wemissedtheregularlyscheduled

election. But elected officials can be recalled, impeached, given the boot! Think of Nixon, Meachem,
Barry—”Hepaused,andpointedtothegreatbanneroverhead.“Thenthinkofyou,OswaldCobblepot,
fillingthevoid.”

ButOswaldCobblepotwasstillwatchingJen.“I’dliketofillhervoid,”hemurmured.

“Weneedsignatures,”Maxinsisted.“Tooverturntheballot.Icansupplythose,Oswald.”

“Teachhermy‘Frenchflipper’trick,”ThePenguincontinued.Itwasamazing,thewonderfulthings

youcouldlearnwhileworkingforthecircus.

“Oswald,”Maxpersevered.“Weneedonemorething.”

ThePenguinblinked.Oh,yes.TheMayor’soffice;that’swhattheyweretalkingabout,wasn’tit?

“A platform?” he suggested. “Let me see. ‘Stop Global Warming! Start Global Cooling!’ Make the

worldagianticebox—”

“That’s fine, Oswald,” Max agreed all too readily. “But to get the mayor recalled, we still need a

catalyst,atrigger,anincident.”

Yeah, The Penguin thought, mayor. Now that he had gotten used to the idea, he really liked it. He

couldhearthemnow.

“You’redoinggreat,MayorCobblepot,”hesaidaloud.Yeah.Helikedthesoundofthat.Andmore

thanthat.“Yourtableisready,MayorCobblepot.”Andhowaboutwomen?WomenlikeJen?Hey,once
he was mayor, he would have his pick of women! “I need you, Oswald. I need you now. That’s the
biggestparasolI’veever—”

“LiketheReichstagfire,”Maxcontinuedurgently.“TheGulfofTonkin.”

What was Max saying? Perhaps that The Penguin wasn’t mayor quite yet. Okay, he would accept

that.Afterall,heusedtodotwelveshowsaday;hecouldhandleanything.

Buttherewasworktodo.Dirtywork.AndThePenguinknewjustwhocoulddoit.

“Ah,”hesuggested.“Youwantmyoldfriendsupstairstodrivethemayorintoafoamingfrenzy.”

Maxgrinnedatthat.

“Precisely,” he agreed. “But they must always come and go via the plumbing ducts that I’ve

provided.”

ThenMaxwassuggestingsecretsabotage?

“Soundslikefun,”ThePenguinagreed.“ButI—”

Hehesitated.Thiswasallhappeningsofast,hehadalmostforgottenhistruepurpose.

Maxlookedathimquestioningly.

“Imustn’tgetsidetracked,”ThePenguinexplained.“I’vegotmyown—”

“Sidetracked?”Maxinterrupted.Hethrewopenhisarmstoincludenotonlytheirsurroundingsbut

all of Gotham City. “Oswald, this is your chance to fulfill a destiny that your parents carelessly
discarded—”

Hey.Maxhadapointthere.WhatwasitthatobnoxiouspantywaistJoshhadsaid?Oh,yeah.

“Reclaimmybirthright,youmean?”ThePenguinasked.Nowthathethoughtofit,itsoundedpretty

good.

Maxnodded,armsstillopenedwide.“Imagine.”Heclosedonefist.“Asmayoryou’llhavetheearof

themedia.”Heclosedtheotherfist.“Accesstocaptainsofindustry.”Heopenedbothhandsandcupped
thembeforehim.“Unlimitedpoontang!”

ThePenguinwasimpressed.“Youdriveahardbargain,Max.”Hepausedonlylongenoughtorealize

hehadmadeuphismind.“Allright.I’llbethemayor.”

Heturnedawayfromthebusinessman,andwalkedovertothewindowsofthestorefront,whichwere

hidden behind a heavy set of blinds. Thrusting his new glove between the slats, he looked out at
GothamCityatnight;acitythatwouldsoonbehis.Hecouldhaveitall—themayor’sofficefirst,and
then,withthewholecityathisfeet,he’dcompletehissweetrevenge.

ThePenguinsmiledandwhisperedthreewords:“Burn,baby,burn.”

CHAPTERTWENTY

othing’s as good as the circus. And that went double when the circus gang decided it was time to

steal.

TheOrganGrinderplayedamerrytuneashismonkeydanced,thenpressedtheplunger.Boomwent

theInsta-TellerMachine!Themonkeydancedforwardtosnatchthecash.

“Allthisdough!”theOrganGrinderexclaimed.“It’sburningaholeinmypocket!”

And that was only the beginning. The Fat Clown related every evil deed to The Penguin as it

occurred.

“TheIceRinkwastorched!”hesaidinthatjollywayofhis.Then,withhardlyanypauseatall,“The

TwelfthPrecinctreportsoffensivegraffitiand—apharmacyheist!”

ThePenguinmadeafistwithhisnewblackglove.

“I’dlovetogetmyflippersdirty,”hecriedintriumph.Hethrewhisfistforward,smackedhislips.

“Bustsomeone’sskull.Eatsomeone’spet—”

Thenagain,herealized,thatmightnotbethemayoralthingtodo.

“But action must be balanced with discretion,” he remarked. Ah, the trials of office. At least they

wouldn’tinterferewithhisothertask.

Hereturnedtothephonebooksandhislegalpads.Hehadtoaddsomemoreaddressestohislist.

GothamCitywasfallingapart.

Selinalookedoutofherwindow.Peopleran,sheheardthreeorfourdifferentkindsofsirens.There

wasafireinthedistance.Sheheardgunshotsthatsoundedliketheycouldhavecomefromaroundthe
corner.

MissKittymeowedather.

Whynot?

Shequicklychangedherclothes.

“Anorgyofsexandviolence?”shesaidtohercat.“Countmein,MissKitty.”

Shecrawledoutontothefireescape.Watchout,GothamCity!

ItwastimeforCatwomantosharpenherclaws.

Violencefilledthenight.

Awomanwithabeltfilledwithkniveschoseanaxinsteadtobeatdownadoor.Thegangmembers

aroundherwerecontenttosimplybeatupdefenselesscitizenswhohappenedtobepassingby.

Batmansteppedfromtheshadows.

Andallthethugsturnedtogreethim.

He reached down to his belt and pulled out a small electronic device that would be perfect for this

occasion.Heheldtheboxinonehandashepunchedfourwhitedots,thenared,withtheotherhand.

ThewomanwiththeknivesthrewabladestraightintoBatman’schest.Itlodgedintheinsigniaofhis

bodyarmor.He’dhavetopullitoutwhenhehadafreeminute.Batmanpunchedinasecondcodeto
followthefirst.

Allthethugshowledasoneastheyrushedtowardhim.Batmanpressedafinalbutton,andtwowings

sproutedfromthesidesofthebox.HiscomputerizedBatarangwasreadytotakethemon.

TheBatarangwhizzedfromhishands,ricochetingfromtheskullofonethugtothenext,one—two—

three—fouroftheminfrontofhim,andthenthewomanwiththeknives,knockingeachoneofthem
cold.BatmantookastepforwardastheBatarangswoopedbackbehindhimandknockedoutthatfifth
thugwhowassneakingupfromtherear.

The Batarang whirred away from its final target, most of its momentum spent, and headed back

towardBatman.ApoodlejumpedfromanearbydoorwayandcaughttheBataranginitsmouth.Itleapt
backtoawomaninaraggedcircuscostume,andbothofthemtookoffdownthealley.

Perhaps,Batmanthought,heshouldtakeaminutetoretrievehisproperty.Hetookasteptowardthe

fleeingpair.

Amanleaptintohispathandproceededtopullaswordfromhisthroat.Batmangavehimaquick

elbowtotheribs.Themandoubledover,andBatmanhelpfullyremovedtheswordforhim.

He stepped over the sword swallower, and found himself facing a thin clown with three sticks of

dynamite strapped to his chest along with a small clock face. It looked like some sort of homemade
bomb.

“I’llblowupthiswhole—”theclownbegan.

Batmanusedtheswordtocutthestraps,thenusedthepointtoflipthebombintohisfreehand.He

rappedtheclown’sskullwiththehilt.Theclownsanktotheground.

Batmanwalkeddownthealley.Hetossedtheswordaway.

He’dkeepthebombforaminute.Youneverknewwhenonewouldcomeinhandy.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

atwoman ignored the gunfire, the sirens, even the screams. She didn’t have time for that kind of

destructionatthemoment.Shewaslookingforwardtoalittledestructionofherown.

She walked up to the front door of Shreck’s, the department store of her dreams. Or was that her

nightmares?Shewassuresomebodywasgoingtohavenightmaresbeforethisnightwasdone.

TherewasthatcuteShrecklogoofthekitten,etchedontotheglassofthedoor.

HowappropriateforCatwoman.

Shepuncheditoutwithherclaws.

Thatwasevenmoreappropriate,afterall.Thisparticularkittenhadgrown.

She reached within the broken glass and opened the door from within. The entire department store

washers.AndsheanticipatedtakingpaymentfromitforeverythingthatMaxShreckhaddone.

She held out her claws, ripping the silk blouses and designer originals from a whole row of

mannequins.Itwasn’tenough.Whatsheneededwasmusic!Therewasastereoonthefloorhere,used
tourgetheshopperstogetintotheChristmasspirit.Shequicklyflippedthroughthetapes,discarding
anything that had to do with Frosty the Snowman or little drummer boys. Ah, this was more like it!
Somecooljazz.Justthesortofdancemusicforacatontheprowl.

Sheturnedupthemusicandlookedtoseewhatshecouldsmashnext.Thatglassjewelrycaselooked

promising.Sheleaptontopofit,stompingherspikedheelsdownwithallherweight.

“Oh,forme?”shecalledastheglassshatteredbeneathher,scatteringgoldandsilver.“Youshouldn’t

have!”

Maybeshe’dcomebackandscarfupsomeofthebetterpiecesbeforesheleft.Butfirstsheneededto

dosomemoredamage.

ShestoppedattheSportsDepartment.Theyhadtrampolines.Sheusedtolovetrampolines!Heck,the

destructionofthedepartmentstorecouldwait.Shewantedtotakeabounceortwo.

Whoops.Shehadcompany.Catwomanwatchedtwosecurityguardsapproachasshebouncedupand

down.

“Whoisshe?”oneofthemasked.Asecondlater,headded,“Whatisshe?”

Thesecondonenodded,openmouthed.“Idon’tknowwhethertoopenfire,orfallinlove.”

“Youpoorguys,”theCatwomanansweredsadly,“alwaysconfusingyourpistolswithyourprivates.”

Almostas if theyhad been waitingfor their cue, boththe guards drewtheir guns. Catwoman leapt

fromthetrampoline,kickedtherevolverfromonehand,thenwhirledandslappedthegunawayfrom
theotherguard.Neitheroneofthemwantedtoputupmuchofafight.Shecartwheeledovertothewall,
and punched open a wall tile. Why, look what we have here. A propane tank! The way she knew her

way around this place, she almost had to have help from the inside—like from a certain mousy
administrativeassistant?

Sheflickedoutherclawsandcutthepropaneline.Gashissedoutnoisily.

“Don’thurtus!”oneoftheguardscalleddefensively.“Ourtake-homeisunderthreehundred!”the

otheradded.

“You’reoverpaid,”Catwomanagreed.Shestuckoutatalonedthumb.“Hittheroad.”

The guards ran as Catwoman skipped over to the Automotive Department. All these aerosol cans

woulddothejobquitenicely.Nextstopwouldbe“Today’sKitchen”andallthoselovelymicrowaves.
Afewaerosolcansinafewmicrowaves,andthosecheerfulbeepsasthemicrowaveswereturnedon,
andhey—

Shreck’sDepartmentStorewasgoingtohaveaparty!

Batmanstaggeredforward.Someonehadhithimsohardinthebackthathefeltiteventhroughhis
bodyarmor.Batmanspunaround,andsawtheTatooedStrongman.

“BeforeIkillyou,Iletyouhitme,”theTatooedStrongmansaidwithalaugh.Heflexedhistattoos.

“Hitme.Comeon,hitashardasyoucan.Ineedagoodlaugh.”

BatmanpushedbothhisfistsintotheTatooedStrongman’sstomach.TheTatooedStrongmanroared

withlaughter.

“Youcallthata—”

HestoppedlaughingwhenhesawthatBatmanhadn’tusedhishandstopunchsomuchastoattacha

bombtothestrongman’sleopardskin.BeforetheTatooedStrongmancouldreact,Batmanfinallygave
him a firm push, down a nearby open manhole. Amazing the way there were always open manholes
aroundThePenguin’sthugs.

The strongman’s falling scream was cut short by an explosion. Smoke rose from the manhole as

Batmanturnedaway.

There,ontheothersideofthestreet,wasThePenguin.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

he Penguin paused to shake the debris from his umbrella. My, things were certainly getting out of

handdownhere.

HelookedupandsawBatman.

The Penguin tensed, ready to use one of his umbrella’s special tricks. But instead of attacking, the

maninthemaskindicatedthechaosaroundthem.

“Admiringyourhandiwork?”Batmanasked.

The Penguin shook his head vigorously. How wrong could a masked vigilante be? Hadn’t Batman

heardabouthisnewimage?

“Touringtheriotscene,”heexplainedsoberly.“Gravelyassessingthedevastation.Upstandingmayor

stuff.”

Batmanshookhishead.“You’renottheMayor.”

ThePenguinshrugged.“Thingschange.”

But why were they treating each other as adversaries? Two people of their particular sort—two

outcastsfromsociety—coulddomuchbetterwhentheyactedtogether.ThePenguinstuckoutoneof
hisnew-improved-imageglovestoshakehands.

“Hey, good to meet you,” he said in his best soon-to-be-mayor voice. “We’ll be working hand in

gloveinGotham’snearandgloriousfuture.”

Batmandidn’tshake.Instead,heglancedaroundatallthelovelyfiresthathadgottenstartedaround

theplaza.

“Once you were their freak,” Batman remarked matter-of-factly. “Now these clowns work for you.

Mustfeelprettygood.”

Well,somuchforthepolitician,ThePenguinthought.

“Betterthanyouknow,Bat-boy,”hereplied.

“Whatareyoureallyafter?”Batmanasked.

Thatsoundedalittlebitlikeachallenge.ThePenguinsmiled.“Ah,thedirectapproach.Iadmirethat

inamanwithamask.”HepokedhisumbrellaatBatman.“Butyoudon’treallythinkyou’llwin?”

Themanwiththemasksmiled.

“Thingschange.”

Oh, The Penguin thought, how droll. He wondered how droll Batman would be once Oswald

Cobblepotputhismasterplanintoeffect.Now,howwouldheputthatintowords?

HestoppedwhenheheardglasssmashattheentrywaytoShreck’sDepartmentStore.Bothheand

Batman turned to see a woman in black do a series of back flips across the plaza toward them. She
performedafinalsomersaultandcametoherfeetfacingbothofthem.

Hercostumewasnotonlyblack,itwastightandshapely,anditmadeherlooklikeacat.Thiswas

onecatThePenguinwouldliketogettoknowbetter.

“Meow,”sheremarked.

AndShreck’sDepartmentStoreexploded.

ThePenguinlookedoutfromunderhisumbrella.Theflyingglassseemedtohavestopped.Muchtohis
disappointment,theCatwomanseemedtohavedisappearedaswell.

Heglancedoverathisotheradversary.

“Isawherfirst,”ThePenguinremarked.

FromthewayBatmanstudiedhissurroundings,hedidnotappearamused.Apparently,thetimefora

politechatwasover.PerhapsitwastimeforThePenguin’sexit.

“Gotta fly,” he remarked as he hit the appropriate button on his umbrella. The steel rods that

supported the fabric began to whirl about, first shredding the black cloth, then spinning free on their
own,acompactrotortosendThePenguinintotheair.Inotherwords,anumbrellacopter.

What a clever idea, huh, Batman? It was this sort of wit that would make The Penguin victorious.

WherewasBatman,anyway?Hewasrunningoffsomeplace,notevenwaitingtosaygood-bye.

ThePenguingrabbedhishatashesailedawayfromdangerandtowardhisdestiny.

Shehadtobeupheresomeplace.

Batman had used the winch and tackle in his utility belt to hoist him most of the way up here, but

he’dhavetonegotiatethelastcoupleoffloors’worthoffireescapewithhisfeet.Hevaultedontothe
roofofthebuildinghehadseenherclimbonlyaminuteago.NowwherewouldaCatwomanhide?

“Where’sthefire?”cameavoicebehindhim.

“Shreck’s,” Batman replied. He turned to see the Catwoman let herself down from a small rooftop

shack. Her black costume had been torn in half a dozen places by the explosion, showing patches of
palefleshandascratchortwo.

“You—”hebegan.

Shekickedhimintheface.Batmanstaggeredbackwiththeblow,butrecoveredquickly,slamming

herinthechinwithonewell-aimedblow.Shefellbackwardintoawhimperingball.

“Howcouldyou?”shemoanedfromwhereshehuddledontherooftop.“I’mawoman—”

Whatdidshemean?Hadhehithertoohard?Hewassousedtofightingmen.

“I’msorry—”hebeganhesitantly.“I—”

Catwomancaughthiminthechestwithbothherboots,sendinghimbackward.Hewasheadedover

theledge.Hereachedouthishands,lookingforsomethingtostophisfall.

Batmanheardthecrackofawhip,andfeltacoillooparoundoneofhisoutstretchedwrists.Hishand

wasjerkedroughlyashefelthimselfbeingpulledbacktowardtherooftop.ThisCatwomanhadsaved

him with some sort of whip, and she lashed the other end of that whip to a weathervane, keeping
Batmandanglingovertheedgeandakillingdrop.

“As I was saying,” she remarked calmly. “I’m a woman and can’t be taken for granted. Are you

listening,youBatman,you?”

Wasshekidding?Batmangrimaced.“Hangingoneveryword?”

“Goodjoke,”shereplied.“Wanttohearanotherone?”

Batmannoddedcautiously.Hedidn’tknowhowmuchencouragementheshouldgiveher.

“Theworldtellsboystoconquertheworld,andgirlstowearcleanpanties,”sheexplained.“Aman

dressedasabatisahe-man,butawomandressedasacatisashe-devil.”Sheranherclawslightlyover
thewhipthatkeptBatmantiedtotheroof.“I’mjustlivingdowntoexplanations.Life’sabitch—and
nowsoamI.”

Sheseemeddonewithtalkingforthemoment.Batmanquietlyusedhisfreearmtoreachinsidehis

utilitybelttopulloutacertainredandbluecapsule.

“Ahe-man?”herepliedwithadrylaugh.“Sure.Theyshinethatbeaconinthesky,thenwonderwhat

holeIcrawloutof.”

“Wow,”Catwomanremarked,“arealresponseandyou’renoteventryingtogetintomytights.”She

pluckedthewhipwithoneofherclaws,nickingiteversoslightly.“Butexplainthistome—ifyou’reso
downonthemoutthere,whybustyourbat-bunstoprotectthem?”

Batman shook his head. “I just can’t sleep at night. Exploding department stores keep me up.” He

snappedthecapsuleinhishands,lettingtheredhalfflowintotheblue.“One—”

“Ican’tsleepeither,lately,”Catwomanadmitted.“Alittlelinkbetweenus.But—bottomline,baby,

you live to preserve the peace, and I’m dying to disturb it.” She reached her claws forward to cut
throughthewhip.“Thatcouldputastrainonourrelationship.”

“—four,five,”Batmanconcluded.Thetubeinhishandhadturnedabrightpurpleandhadstartedto

bubble.Helobbeditatherarmasshecutawayatthewhip.

Shescreamedasthemixtureexplodedagainstherforearm.Shelostherbalanceandfellpasthim,her

clawscatchingontoanarrowledgeafewfeetbelow.Shescrapedfranticallyattheconcrete,tryingto
findsomeplacetodiginwithherclaws.

Batman freed his wrist from the remains of the whip and leapt down to her side. He grabbed her

wrists and pulled her up, moving his hands beneath her armpits and then behind her back. The ledge
wassonarrowthathehadtoholdherquiteclose.Itwasalmostasiftheywereembracing.

“Who are you?” she said as she gazed into his eyes. “Who’s the man behind the Bat?” She smiled

sadly. “Maybe he can help me find the woman behind the Cat.” Her hand stroked his body armor.
“That’snothim.Ah—hereyouare.”

Herhandstoppedatthatpointjustabovethewaistwherethetwomainpiecesofhisarmorjoined.

Withoutwarning,shedrovehertalonsthroughthefabricintohisflesh.

Batmancriedoutinpain,pushingheraway.

Shefell.

“No,”Batmanwhispered.

Shehitthebackofapassingtruckfilledwithsand.

CatwomanjumpedupandwavedattheastonishedBatman,whowatchedherfromhighabove.

“Savedbythekittylitter,”sheremarkeddryly.“Somedate—”

Sherippedhersleeveawaytoexposethenastyredweltonherforearm,lookingatitmorecloselyin

thelightofapassingstreetlamp.

“Soit’snotacorsage,”shemurmured.“Butaburnlastssomuchlonger.”SothatwastheBatman,

shethought.

“Bastard,”sheadded.

“Bitch,” Batman muttered as he examined the wound, a set of four small punctures across his lower
stomach.Theyfeltmuchworsethantheylooked.Still,itwasonlywhenhehadreachedthesafetyof
theBatcavethathefelthecouldsufficientlyexaminethem.

Hewalkedovertohiscommunicationsconsoleandflickedaswitch,thenpressedabutton.

“Alfred,”hecalled,“wouldyoubringmesomeantisepticointment,please?”

“Coming,”theconcernedvoiceofthebutlerreplied.“Areyouinpain,sir?”

“Yes,”Batmanadmitted,“abit—”Heflippedtheswitchbacktobreaktheconnection.

“But I don’t really mind,” he added softly. He gingerly rubbed at his sore stomach, thinking about

whathadjusthappened,andwithwhom.

“Meow,”heremarked.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

er desk was so much cozier now. She had gotten rid of all those old, wimpy notes that Selina had

written to herself and posted all over her computer, and replaced them with much more appropriate
reminders: “Defy Authority.” “Take No Prisoners.” “Expose the Horror.” Yes. She liked these much
better.

Aflybuzzedtooclosetoherear.Shesnatcheditfromtheairandcrusheditwithoutlookingup.It

wouldbeonlyoneofthethingsshe’dcrushtoday.

ButitwastimeforMax’scoffee.

Shegrabbedthemilkandmadethosefinal,all-importantpreparations.

She sauntered into Max’s office. Chip was deep in conversation with his father; apparently an

explodeddepartmentstorewasenoughtogetboththeirattentions.

“Morning,Max,”shesaidtotheoldboss.“Bummeraboutthestore.Youcovered?”

“Idamnwellbetterbe!”theseniorShreckfumed.“Infact,Iwantyoutophonethosegoniffsoverat

GothamInsuranceandtellthem—”

“Actually,”sherepliedcasually,“Ihavetosplit.Takea‘personalday.’Youdon’tmind?Max,you’re

tops!”

Max nodded. After her mysterious reappearance, he let her do just about anything. It was amazing

whatcomingbackfromthedeadcoulddoforyourcareer.

Maxsippedhiscoffee.Atlast,themomentshe’dbeenwaitingfor.

Hemadethestrangestnoiseashespitthelivecockroachoutofhismouthontothetable.Andafter

that,hespentagoodthirtysecondsgagging.

Chip turned away from the table. The cockroach scurried off, leaving a coffee trail on Max’s

importantpapers.

“Those darned exterminators,” she mentioned disparagingly. “They swore the machine was

shipshape!”

She turned and sauntered out, listening to Max’s continued gagging, sweet music to her sensitive

ears.Yes,thisdaywasstartingoutwellenough.Butitwouldgetevenbetter!

His chance was here at last. After that shameful night of crime on the streets of Gotham City, what
could The Penguin—that is, Oswald Cobblepot—do but declare his candidacy for mayor? So they’d
taken down the curtains, revealing his campaign headquarters for all to see. They’d invited the press,
alertedthemedia,evencomeupwithacoupleofimprovedbanners.OSWALDMEANSORDERhung
ontheleftsideoftheroom.COBBLEPOTCANCLEANITUPhungovertheright.

Soherehewas,surroundedbythemediaandhishundredvolunteers.WhatcouldThePenguindoto

topthat,excepttosayafewinspiringwords?

“ImayhavesavedtheMayor’sbaby,”hesaidwithawaveofhisever-presentumbrella,“butIrefuse

to save a mayor who stood by, helpless as a baby, while Gotham was ravaged by a disease that turns
EagleScoutsintocrazedclowns,andhappyhomemakersintoCatwomen!”ThePenguinwasn’texactly
surewhatthismeant,butitsuresoundedgood.

Hisvolunteerscheered.Inthebackground,hecouldhearreporterscallingintheirstories:“Oswald

Cobblepot,themysteryman-beastwho’sbeenromancingGotham,todaymadeabidtorunGotham—”

Ah,itwasmusictohisears.Whatcouldbebetter?

A very shapely young volunteer stood in his path. “Mr. Cobblepot,” she squealed as she looked

adoringlydownathim,“you’rethecoolestrolemodelayoungpersoncouldhave.”

Yes,hethought,itcouldgetbetter,especiallyinthesupplyroom,withthetwoofthemalone.

“Andyou’rethehottestyoungpersonarolemodelcouldhave,”hesaidaloud.Heleanedforwardand

droppedhisvoice.“Here,wearabutton.”

Itwas,ofcourse,hisdutytopinthatbuttonpersonallyonherpertyoungbreast.Hewantedtosee

moreofthisvolunteer—nottomentionherpertyoungbreasts—assoonaspossible.

Ah,buttherewerestillmembersofthepressaround.Apoliticianhadtobecarefulinthesetroubled

times.Hedecideditmightbebesttogoupstairsandcooloff.

“Icouldreallygetintothismayorstuff,”hemurmuredtohimself.“It’snotaboutpower,it’sabout—

reachingouttopeople.Touchingpeople.”Hethoughtofhisvolunteer.“Gropingpeople.”

He climbed up to his other headquarters. The Organ Grinder was supervising the construction of

thosespecialweaponssonecessaryfortheirnextassault.Everythinglookedtobeinorderhereaswell.

ThethinClownstuckhisfaceupclosetoThePenguin.

“Hey,Penguin,”hebegan,“there’sa—”

ThePenguinstompeddownontheclown’sfoot.

“Myname’snotPenguin!”hebarked.“It’sOswaldCobblepot.”Especially,hethought,ifthatname

attractedthebabes.Healmostfeltlikesinging.Heck,whynot?“I’llgetalotoftailonthecampaign
trail—”

“Oswald,”theKnifeLadyinterjected,“there’ssomeoneheretoseeyou.”Shejerkedherheadtoward

ThePenguin’sbedinthefarcorneroftheloft.There,curleduponthemattress,withaprettylittlekitty
inherlap,wasthewomanofThePenguin’sdreams—theCatwoman.

Hechompeddownhardonhiscigaretteholder.Bestill,hetoldhisheart—nottomentionotherparts

ofhisanatomy.He’dshowthisbeautythatfurandfeatherscouldmixandmate.

ThecanarybesideThePenguin’sbedcriedoutinalarm,notatallpleasedwiththenewvisitors.But

hey,whatdidcanariesknow?MaybethisCatwomanwasdangerous,butitwasThePenguin’skindof
danger.

ThePenguinsteppedforwardtogreether.“JustthepussyI’vebeenlookingfor.”

Catwomansatup,movingherhandsslowlyupanddownherupperarms.“Chillyinhere.”

Shemustbetalkingaboutthoseairconditionersoneithersideofhissleepingarea,setuptore-create

thetemperatureofhisbelovedArcticWorld.Onealwaystriedtorelivethecomfortsofone’schildhood.

ButtherewasnoreasonthispoorwomanhadtosufferforThePenguin’ssake.Atleastnotwhilethey
stillhadalltheirclotheson.

“I’llwarmyou!”heheartilyvolunteered.

“Down,Oswald,”Catwomanwarned.

ThePenguinstopped.Hedidn’tlikethelookofherclaws.

“Weneedtotalk,”shecontinued.“Yousee,wehavesomethingincommon.”

“Soundsfamiliar,”ThePenguinagreed.He’dliketohavealotofthingsincommonwiththisbabe.

“Appetitefordestruction?”heguessed.Hetuggedonhissuitcoat.“Contemptfortheczarsoffashion?
Wait—don’ttellme—nakedsexualcharisma!”

“Batman,”Catwomanrepliedsimply.“Thethorninbothoursides,theflyinourointment.”

“Ointment?”ThePenguinleered.Itsoundedgoodtohim.“Scentedorunscented?”

Catwomansighedandstood.“I’llcomebacklater.”

ThePenguingentlypushedherbackonthebed.Perhapshewascomingonabittoostrong.Maybe

theydidneedtotalkforaminuteortwobeforeabandoningalltheirinhibitionsandgivingthemselves
uptooverwhelmingsexualpassion.

“Areyou,perchance,aregisteredvoter?”heaskedpleasantly.“I’mamayoralprospect,youknow.”

Shedidnotseemimpressed.“Ihavebutonepetcausetoday.BantheBat.”

“Oh,himagain,”ThePenguinreplieddismissively.“whatisitwithyoutwo?He’salreadyhistory—”

Heraisedhisumbrellaandpointedtotheblueprintsonthewall.“Checkitout.”

CatwomanwalkedovertothedetaileddiagramsoftheBatmobile.IthadtakenMaxaprettypennyto

getthemfromthecar’sdesigner—oradisgruntledformeremployeeofthatdesigner.ThePenguinlet
thebusinessmanhandlethatsortofparticular.

Andspeakingofparticulars,theyhadeverysinglepartoftheBatmobilelabeledonthesecharts;and

notjustthosepartstheaveragecitizenmightsee,buteverynutandboltthatheldthatinfernalmachine
together.

ThePenguinchuckledattheverythoughtoftheirplans.

“We’regoingtodisassemblehisspiffyoldBatmobile,”heexplainedheartily,“thenreassembleitas

anH-bombonwheels.”Heopenedhisumbrellaashemadethesoundofamuffledexplosion—avisual
aidforthedeathofBatman.“Yesterday’svictoristomorrow’svapor.”

TheCatwomanshookherheaddisapprovingly.“He’dhavemorepowerasamartyr.No,todestroy

Batman, we must first turn him into what he hates most.” She pointed at the Penguin, then herself.
“Namely,us.”

The Penguin frowned. This was more complicated than he thought. Was she talking about sullying

theherobeforetheycouldoffhim?

“Youmean,framehim?”heasked.

ButCatwomanwasnolongerlookingathim.Shehadnoticedthehugepileofyellowlegalpadson

hisbedsidetable,andhadevenpickeduponetoperusethenameshehadwrittenthere.

“Hmm—noteveninofficeyet,”shemused,“andalreadyanenemieslist.”

How dare she! The Penguin scurried over to his special project, thrusting his gloves forward to

protecthislistfromunauthorizedobservation.

“Thesenamesarenotforpryingeyes!”Hefrownedupatthisintruder.Whatdidheknowaboutthis

woman, anyway? “Hey, why should I trust some Catbroad? Maybe you’re just a screwed-up sorority
chickwho’sgettingbackatDaddyfornotbuyingherthatponywhensheturnedsweetsixteen—”

Ormaybe,hethoughtbutdidn’tsayaloud,shewassomesortofspyfortheotherside.Maybeevena

spyforBatman.

Shelookedathim,nervous.He’dgotunderherfurwiththatlastremark.Nowwhatwashegoingto

dowiththisCatwomaninhislair?

Beforehecouldcometoanyconclusions,shereachedintothebirdcageandgrabbedhispetcanary.

ThePenguinbristled.Ifanythinghappenedtohisbird—

He grabbed one of the many umbrellas stacked by the side of the bed and pressed a button on the

handle.Aknifebladepoppedoutofthetop,abladeheusedtopinCatwoman’slittlekittycatagainst
thebed.

Helookedupathisadversary.Theminutesheswallowedthecanary,hercatwashistory.

CatwomanspitJerryfromhermouth.Thecanary,somewhatdampbutverymuchalive,flewupinto

therafters.

Verywell.Adealisadeal.ThePenguinpulledhisbladeawayfromthekittycat’sthroat.Catwoman

protectivelyscoopedupthecatinherarms.Theystaredateachotherforalongmoment.

Whatnext?ThePenguinthought.Shefreedoneofherhandsandleanedforwardtogentlystrokeher

clawsagainstThePenguin’scheek.PettingfromaCatwoman?Itwasoneresponsehedecidedhecould
dealwith.

“Look,”shesaid,noddingatascarbelowherwrist,“Batmannapalmedmyarm.Heknockedmeoff

a building just as I was starting to feel good about myself. I want to play an integral part in his
degradation.”

The Penguin regarded her for a moment. She certainly sounded sincere. And angry; that was

important.ThePenguinwasbigonanger.

“Well,” he remarked slowly, “a plan is forming.” He rubbed his chin with one of his gloves. “A

viciousone,involvingthelossofinnocentlife.”

“Iwantin,”Catwomaninsisted.Sheshivered.“ThethoughtofbustingBatmanmakesmefeelall—

dirty.MaybeI’llgivemyselfabathrighthere.”

Sheslowlyranhertonguealongherupperarm.ThePenguinlickedhislips.

“You’vegotyourselfadeal,puss,”herepliedhuskily.

Andwithanyluck,ThePenguinhadhimselfsomeaction.

ThePenguinwasonTV.Thesedays,itseemedlikeThePenguinwasalwaysonTV.

“I challenge the mayor,” The Penguin declared with a melodramatic swoop of his umbrella, “to

relighttheChristmastreeinGothamPlazatomorrownight!”

BruceWaynelookedupforaninstantasAlfredplacedhisdinnerbeforehim.

ThePenguindronedonthroughhismediaforum.“Hemustprovethatunderhisadministration,we

cancarryonourproudtraditionswithoutanyfear.NotthatIhaveanyfaithinthemayor,”hesquawked
self-importantly,“butIpray,atleast,theBatmanwillbetheretopreservethepeace.”

“Sir,”Alfredremarked,disturbinghisconcentration.“Shallwechangethechanneltoaprogramwith

somedignityandclass?TheLoveConnection,perhaps?”

Alfredwasright.Brucecouldn’tbecomeobsessedwiththisPenguin’spreening.Butthiscrookhad

justofferedachallengetoBatman,andBatmancouldn’thelpbutaccept.Brucewonderedexactlywhat
ThePenguinplannedtodoatthetreelighting.Whateveritwas,Batmanhadtobereadyforit.

Maybe, he considered, there might be a way that Batman could be there without The Penguin’s

knowledge.

HelookedonemoretimeatThePenguin,talkingawayontheTVscreen.

“Subtle,”heremarked.

Asaflyingmallet,hethoughttohimself.

Hereachedfortheremote,andturnedThePenguinoff.

Arehearsal,hethought,fortherealthing,whenBatmanturnedThePenguinoffforever.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

twasalmostChristmastime.

Remarkably,theyhadmanagedtoreopensomeofthestoresontheplaza,makingquickrepairstothe

devastationofacoupledaysago.Whenhehadleftherethatnight,Brucewouldhavethoughtthiskind
ofrecoverywasimpossible.Still,heguessedthatnothingwasstrongerthanthelureofChristmascash.

Brucesawaboy,walkingbetweenhismotherandfather,asallthreeheadedfortherestoredwindow

ofthetoystore.Theboyseemedsohappy.Andwhyshouldn’thebe?Hehadhisparents.Theyallhad
eachotheratChristmastime.

Brucehadtoturnaway.

Hismotherscreamed.Hisfathertriedtostopthem.Heheardthegunshots.

Bruceopenedhiseyes.Christmas.

Brucecouldnotthinkofamoredepressingtimeofyear.

Whenheturned,hesawawomanlookingatastorewindow;awomanwhomherecognized.Anda

womanhewouldverymuchliketogettoknowbetter.Hewalkedherway.Maybehecouldcheerup
afterall.

“Whyareyoudoingthis?”shesaidtoherreflection.Shedidn’tappeartobehappyherself.Maybe

therewassomeway,Brucethought,thathecouldcheerthebothofthemup.

Hetappedherontheshoulder.

Shejumped.

“Selina,”hesaidsoftlyassheturnedtostareathim.“Hi.Didn’tmeanto—”

Sheplacedonedelicatehandonherheavingchest.OncesherecognizedBruce,sheseemedrelieved

toseehim.Couldthatbeagoodsign?

“Scareme?”shereplied.“No,actually,Iwasjustscaringmyself.”

“Idon’tseehow,”Brucereplied,doinghisbesttolightentheconversation.“Anyway,it’satreatto

findyououtintheworld,awayfromEbenezerShreck.”

“Treattobehere,”shevaliantlyreplied.Shesighedasifshecouldnotpossiblymeanit.Shetooka

stepawayfromthewindow.

“What’sthestory?”Bruceaskedashefellintostepbesideher.“Holidayblues?”

ButSelinapointedatthePlazaNewsstandastheywalkedonpast,fullofnewspaperswithblazing

bannerheadlinesaboutthenightbefore:

BATMANBLOWSIT!

IT’SACAT-ASTROPHE

MEE-OUCH!

“Thenewsthesedays,”sheexplained,“weird.Peoplelookingtosuperheroesfortheirpeaceofmind,

andblamingtheirproblemsonsupervillains—insteadofthemselves,ortheirspousesatleast.”

Yes,Brucehadtoadmit,thosekindofheadlinesannoyedhim,too.Whatkindofreflectionwerethey

ontherealitiesoflastnight’sbattle?

“And it’s not even accurate,” he complained. “I mean, ‘Batman Blows It’? The guy probably

preventedmillionsinpropertydamage!”

Selinanoddedinagreement.“IheardonTV—‘Catwomanisthoughttoweighonehundredandforty

pounds!’Howdothesehackssleepatnight?”

Theirfurtherprogressappearedtobeblockedbythepreparationsfortheupcomingceremony.Police

wereputtingupcordonstokeepthepublicawayfromalargeportionofthesquareinfrontofthetree.A
pairofworkmenhoistedanewbannerabovetheplazathatannouncedtheexacttimingoftheevent:

THERELIGHTINGOFTHETREE

TONIGHTATSEVEN

Selinalookedupatthebanner,evenmoreunhappythanbefore.“You’renotcomingtothat,areyou?

The‘RelightingoftheTree’thing?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead,” Bruce agreed. “No, it’s probably how I would be caught.” He sighed

exasperatedly.“ThemayorstupidlytookCobblepot’sbait—”

“—andit’sgoingtobeahottimeonthecoldtowntonight,”Selinasaidwithalittlelaugh.

Brucelookedoverather.Thiswasthefirsttimehe’dheardhervoiceriseoutofthedoldrums.

“Youalmostsoundenthusiastic,”hementioned.

ShelookedbackatBruceandshrugged.

“Oh, no, I detest violence but—” She paused, as if it was difficult for her to put her exact feelings

intowords.“Christmascomplacencycanbeadowner,too.”

ItwasBruce’sturntochuckle.“You’vegotadarkside,Selina.Hmm?”

Shelookedathimwiththosepiercingblueeyes.“Nodarkerthanyours,Bruce.”

Hecertainlycouldn’tdenythat.

“Well,I’m—braveratnight,”headmitted,“ifthat’swhatyoumean.”

“Yeah?”Shelookedathimwithasmile.“Me,too.”

Theystartedtowalkalongsidetheyellowpoliceline,passingthestagewheretheIcePrincessonce

againrehearsedfortheimportantjobofpressingthebuttonthatwouldlightthetree.

HeturnedbacktoSelina,hisvoicesoftashesuggested,“Maybewe’llwatchitonTV.”

“‘We’?”NowSelinaturnedtolookathim.Sheactuallysmiled.“Youand—”

“Me,”hefinishedforher,realizingonlythenthathehadinvitedthisbeautifulwomanintohislife.

Waitamoment;therewassomethingwrongwithwhathehadjustsaid.

“No,” he corrected himself, “that would make it me and me.” He paused. Hadn’t they had this

conversationbefore?“IsthatwhatIsaid?”

Selinalaughed.“Yesandno,”shereplied.

Theyturnedtowardthecurb.TherewashisRolls-Royce,pullinguptothecurbtowhiskthemaway.

BrucewassometimesamazedthatAlfredcouldbesogoodattimingthissortofthing.

Maybe,Brucethought,Batmancouldmisstonight’sfestivitiesafterall.

HetookSelina’shand.Shedidn’tobject.Together,theywalkedtowardthewaitingcar.

Thiseveningwouldbeeverythinghe’dplanned!

The Penguin waddled into the tent that held the controls for tonight’s celebration, as well as the

dressingroomofthatwell-builtIcePrincess.Hecouldhearhertalkingtoherselfasheapproached.

“Thetreelightsup,Ipressthebutton,”shemused.“No,wait,Ipressthebuttonfirstandthetree—

“Whoareyou?”shedemandedashemarchedintoherdressingroom.

“Talentscout,”ThePenguinreassuredher.

Herfrigiddemeanordisappearedbehindthemostcharmingofsmiles.Hey!Atalentscout?Hewas

herkindofpeople.“Comein!”sheinsisted.“Youknow,Idon’tjustlighttrees.IstudiedtheMethod.
Well,itwasbymail,but—”

ShestoppedwhenshesawthatThePenguinwasaccompaniedbyapoodlewithanodd-lookingbox

inhismouth.

Now,ThePenguinjusthadtousethatlittlebox.Nicedoggie.Thepoodlegrowled.Hehadtoyankit

free.

“Whatisthat?”sheaskedprettily.“Acameraorsomething?”

ThePenguinnoddedmostagreeably.NoneedforhertoknowitwastheBatarangthatthey’dstolen

fromBatman.She’dfindoutaboutthatsoonenough.

Hejauntilypunchedaseriesofbuttons.“Say‘Cheese,’”heremarked.

ThewingssproutedoutoftheBatarang’ssides.

Sheneverknewwhathither.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

hestnutsroastingonanopenfire,JackFrostnippingatyournose—

Selina Kyle—and tonight, she did feel like Selina should have always felt—looked up from where

she sat next to Mr. Bruce Wayne on what might be the world’s most comfortable couch. They were
sittingveryclosetogether.NotonlywasthereromanticmusicontheCDplayer,butthecouchfaceda
roaring fire, and Alfred the butler—an actual butler!—had reappeared, silently—she wondered how
butlersdidthat—torefilltheireggnogs.Wow.Mr.BruceWayne,handsome,clever,andinterestedinher
besides!Whycouldn’tshehavemethimlongago—say,beforeCatwomanenteredthepicture?

ShesmiledatAlfred.Hesmiledbackanddisappearedjustassilentlyashehadarrived.

She turned back to Bruce. “I’m sure he’s wonderful company and all, but—doesn’t the gold-plated

bachelorbitgetalittle—stale?”

Brucesmiledatthat—imagine,amanwhosmiledatherattemptsathumor—andreplied,“Somewhat

likethelonely-secretarysyndrome,I’dsuppose.”

Secretary?

“Executiveassistant,”washerautomaticresponse.Butwhowasshekidding,especiallyworkingfor

somebodylikeMaxShreck?

“Secretary,”sheadmitted.

Butshehadother,moreimportantquestionstoask.

“Girlfriend?”wasfirstamongthem.

Bruce looked straight into her eyes. “As in ‘serious’? Had one. Didn’t work.” He took a drink of

eggnog.

“Whatwentwrong?”sheasked.“Hangon,IthinkIknow.”Afterall,whatalwayswentwrongwith

allofherrelationships?“Youkeptthingsfromher.”

ButBruceshookhishead.

“Nope,Itoldhereverything.”

Oh,Selinathought,nowthiswasfarmoreinteresting.

“Andthetruthfrightenedher?”sheasked.

Bruceputhiseggnogdownonthetableinfrontofthemandturnedallhisattentiontoher.My,she

thought,agirlcouldgetusedtothis.

“Well—”hebeganhesitantly,“howcanIputthis.Thereweretwotruths”—heopenedhistwohands,

as if he could hold one of those truths in each of them—“and she had trouble reconciling them.” He
sighed as his hands came together. “Because I had trouble reconciling them.” He sighed again. “So

Vickisaid.”

“Vicki?” She couldn’t help herself. She giggled. Vicki. What a perfect name for the girlfriend of a

millionairebachelorplayboy.

“Iceskaterorstewardess?”sheguessed.

“Photojournalist,”Brucereplied.

“Sure,”Selinareplied.Justlikeshewasanexecutiveassistant.

ShelookedatBruceandtheybothstartedtolaugh.

“Well?” Selina insisted, trying again to be serious. “Was ‘Vicki’ right? About your difficulty with

duality?”

Brucehesitatedagain.Hewassosincerewhenhehesitated.“IfIsaidyes,thenyoumightthinkmea

NormanBates,oraTedBundytype”—hepaused,andhesitantlyleanedforward—“andthenyoumight
notletmekissyou.”

Itwasabouttime.Shedidn’twaitforhimtofinishleaning.Shedecidedtomoveforwardandkiss

himinstead.

Thekisslastedforawhile.Whoneededwords,whenhehadthissetoflips?Explanationscameand

went,butagoodkisswasforever.

They finally had to come up for air. She looked at him very seriously. A kiss like that deserved an

answer.

“It’s the so-called normal guys who always let you down,” she said. “Sickos never scared me. At

leastthey’recommitted.”

Heputhisarmsaroundherthen.

“Ah,”Brucewhispered.“Thenyou’vecometotherightlonelymansion.”

Theykissedagain,andthisonepromisedmuchmoretocome.Shefoundherfingersplayingwiththe

buttonsonhisshirt,andthenunbuttoningthem,oneafteranother.Shestartedfromthetop,andworked
herwaydown.

Hishandcoveredhersonthethirdbutton.Hepushedhergentlyaway.Wasshegoingtoofast?This

sortofthingwasalwaysdifficulttotime.Ifonlyhewasn’tsuchagoodkisser.

Thenhishandmovedoverandstartedtoplaywithherbuttons?Uh-oh.Themalewantedtorunthe

show?Well,maybeSelinawouldallowit—thistime.

Butwait.Ifhetookoffherblousehowwouldsheexplaintheburnonherarm?Maybeshehadbetter

waitherself.

Reluctantly,shepushedhisexploringhandaway.

Bruceseemedeverybitasembarrassedasshedid.

“I,uh,”hesputtered,“Ineverfoolaroundonthefirstdate.”

Hishandbrushedagainsthisstomach,asifcheckingonsomethingbeneaththeshirt.

Atleasthewasbeingchivalrousenoughtogiveheranout.“NorI,onthesecond,”sheagreed.Still,

shedidn’tknowhowlongshecouldholdoutaroundsomebodylikehim.Howlongwouldittakefor
thatsortofburntoheal?

Brucelookedather.“Whatareyoudoingthreedatesfromnow?”

Selinastoodabruptly,crossingtheroomtotheTVset.Don’ttemptme,shethought.Pleasetemptme.

“Weren’twegoingtowatchtherelightingofthetree?”shesaidinstead.Shepushedtheonbuttonon

theTV.

Instead of the ceremonies, the TV screen was filled with scenes of an all-too-familiar chaos in

GothamPlaza.

“Werepeat,”anannouncersaidfromwherehestoodinthemidstofasurgingandscreamingcrowd,

“theIcePrincesshasbeenkidnapped!Anditonlygetsworse—CommissionerGordon—”

Thesceneshiftedtothepolicecommissioner,lookingpaleandvisiblyshaken,ashestoodbeforea

tentelsewhereinGothamPlaza.

The announcer continued, “Can you confirm the reports we’re hearing of Batman’s suspected

involvementintheabduction?”

“Theevidenceispurelycircumstantial,”Gordonrepliedwithafrown.“Wefoundthis,stainedwith

blood,inthemissinggirl’sdressingroom.”Heheldupsomekindofaboxwithwings.Itsurelooked
likeitbelongedtoBatman.

ShelookedbackatBruce.ThePenguinhadsethisplansinmotion.AndCatwomanhadpromisedto

bethere.Instead,shewasontheothersideoftown,andhadalmostletamantakecontrol.That’swhat
shegotforlettingSelinadothethinking.ButwasthereanywayThePenguinwouldtrustCatwoman
now?

Bruce looked upset as well. Probably had something to do with all this violence in the city. She

wishedherproblemswerethatsimple!

Hestood,andsmiledalmostapologetically.

“Selina,”hesaidquickly,“I’mjustgoingtocheckonthosechestnutsAlfredwasroasting.”

Therewasnoreasontobeapologeticaboutthat,wasthere?Ifanyoneshouldbeapologeticaround

here,itshouldbeher,becauseshehadtogetoutofhere.

Catwomanhadanappointment.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

lfred strode across the foyer, a bowl of roasted chestnuts in his hands. He heard Master Wayne’s

footstepsbeforehesawhim,allowinghimtoneatlysidestephisemployerandthusavoidcollision.

“Sorry,Alfred,”Mr.Waynegulped,tryinghardtoregainhisbreath.“IhavetogettothePlaza.You

heardThePenguin,hewaspracticallybeggingmetoshow.”

Alfreddidfindthismostrecentstatementdisappointing.“WhichiswhyIhopedyou’dsnubhim,”he

remarkedcalmly.

Brucetookastepaway,alreadyheadingtowardtheentrancetohissecretcave.“I’mafraidIcan’t.

There’s been a kidnapping. Tell Selina—that is, Ms. Kyle—that some business came up . . .” He
hesitated,shakinghishead.“No,tellherthatsomemajordealfellthrough,she’llfeelsorry—”More
headshakesashelookeduptowardheaven,forinspirationperhaps,thendowntowardtheBatcave.“—
No,no,here’swhattodo,justtellher—letherknowthat—notinadumb‘Bemygirlfriendway,’but
—”

Alfredalreadyknewpreciselywhattosay.

“Iwillrelaythemessage,”hereassuredhisemployer.

“Allright,”Brucereplied,“thanks.”

Herandownthehallway.

Alfredturnedbacktowardthedentofulfillhisduty.

AndalmostranintoMs.SelinaKyleassherushedintothefoyer.

“Alfred!”shesaidbrightly.“Hi!I—”

ThebutlerdecidedheshoulddispensewithMr.Wayne’sapologiesimmediately.

“Ms.Kyle,”hebeganevenly.“Mr.Waynehasaskedmetoletyouknowthat—”

“Mr.Wayne,”Selinareplied,asifshestillwasn’tquiteusedtothename.“Bruce.”Shetookadeep

breath. “Yes—would you tell him for me that I’ve been going through a lot of changes and—” She
shookherhead.“No,don’tsaythat.”Shefrownedandthencontinued.“Just...thisisnotarejection,
myabruptlyleaving.It’s...infact,tellhimthathemakesmefeelthewayIhopeIreallyam—no.”

She laughed helplessly, throwing up her hands. “If you can whip up a sonnet, something—” She

shruggedandlaughed.“Adirtylimerick?”

Alfrednoddedreassuringly.“Onehasjustsprungtomind.”

Ms.Kylelaughedagainandopenedthefrontdoor.

Yes,Alfredthought,helikedthisyoungwoman.Infact,itappearedthatsheandMasterBrucewere

virtuallymadeforeachother.

Hewouldhavetoframetheprecisewordstorelatetohisemployer.

Abutler’sworkwasneverdone.

Itwastoobad,really.Theyhadcomesoclose.

ButBrucedidn’twanttohavetoexplainthosescarsonhisstomach.Notyet.Batmanhadgottenin

thewayofBruceWayne’slastrelationship.Andhesupposedhewouldeventuallyhavetolethisalter
egointothisrelationshipaswell,butsomehowhewantedalittleromancebeforethecomplicationsset
in.

Brucequicklydonnedthesuit.

AndBatmanjumpedintotheBatmobileandheadedfordowntownGothamCity.

ShewassogladshehaddecidedtodriveherselftoWayneManor.

WhenBrucehadusheredherintothecar,hehadaskedifshewantedtocomeuptothehousenow,or

waituntiltheevening.Shehadoptedfortheevening,anddirectionstothemansion,eventhoughBruce
hadvolunteeredAlfred’schauffeuringservices.

Awoman,afterall,neededherindependence.

Now,though,sheneededtobeinGothamPlaza.Shedugdownundertheoldmagazinesanddietcola

canstopulloutherCatwomancostume.

Romancewasnice,butshecravedaction.

TheBatmanguidedtheBatmobileintoadesertedalleyimmediatelybehindtheplaza.

Atfirstglanceitappearedthatthepolicehadmanagedtorestoresomeordertotheproceedings.Still,

heneededtobehere.HewassurethecaptureoftheIcePrincesswasn’tThePenguin’sonlyplan,but
partofsomelargerpicture.AndBatmanwantedtobetherewhenThePenguinpulledsomethingnew
fromhissoiledsleeve.

Hejumpedfromthecar,pausingonlylongenoughtoactivatetheBatmobile’ssecurityshields.Then

heheadedswiftlyandsilentlytowardtheplaza,hisdarkcostumeblendingwiththeshadows.

Fools!Letthemtrytoestablishorder.

TheonlyordersaroundherewouldcomefromThePenguin.

Still,theytriedtosettheklieglightsworking,swingingbackandforthasifnothingwerewrong.And

therewasthemayor—soontobetheex-mayor—pitifullyattemptingtorestoreorder.

“People!”heyelledintohismicrophone.“Fellowcitizens.There’snoneedforpanic.Thiscanstillbe

apartythatGothamwillrememberfor—”

Whateverhewantedtosaynextwaslostunderashriekoffeedback.Nowhowcouldsomethinglike

that happen? Surely, it had nothing to do with The Penguin twisting the knobs on the controls to the
speakersystem?

AndwhileThePenguinwasbusyhelpingthemayor,hishelperswerebusymakingadjustmentsof

theirown.

Evenfromhishidingplacewithinthetent,hecouldtellwhattheyweredoing.

The Poodle Lady led the way, her mangy dog at her side. And following her were all their circus

chums.Butnoneofthemcametothepartyempty-handed,foreachofthemcarriedatoolbox.

AndthenameofthepartywastheBatmobile.

OneoftheRedTriangleCircusGangclimbedatopthesecurityshield,andwiththeaidofaprimitive

butstillquiteeffectivehand-heldlaser,disabledthewholesystem.Whoosh,andtheshieldwasgone.
Therestofthegangrushedupatthat,eachmemberequippedwithaveryspecialhelmetcontaininga
verydetaileddrawingthatoutlinedtheirownveryspecifictask.

Andonceallthosetaskswereputtogether,theRedTriangleCircusGangwouldtaketheBatmobile

apart.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

atmanwatchedtheeventsinGothamPlazafromtheshadows.

Themayorwasvaliantlyattemptingtocalmthecrowd,buthalfhisspeechwaslostinfeedback.

“—incess will be safely—” managed to get through the noise. “—atman will be brought in for

question—”

ButBatmanhadnomoretimeforthemayor’swords,forhesawalightoninawindowacrossfrom

him,andinthatwindowwastheboundandgaggedIcePrincess.

Therewasnotimeforexplanationstothemayor.Notyet.Heshotoutagrappleandlinetotheledge

above.Inashorttime,hisactionswouldspeakfarlouderthanhiswords.

ThePenguinplayedthecontrolknobsliketheywereagrandpiano.Letinafewwordshere,afew
wordsthere,justenoughtogivethemayorhopehecouldbeheardwhiletotallyconfusinghisaudience.

HisminionshadbynowtotallydismantledtheBatmobile.Ah,butthatwasonlythebeginningofthe

fun.Fornowtheyaddedaclamphere,twistedawirethere,sothatthecontrolsnolongeractedinquite
the way they did before. And the pièce de résistance? Why, that special antenna they installed on the
underside of the car, so that the Batmobile could be totally controlled by an outside signal—a signal
managedbysomeonewhowasverygoodattwistingknobs.

Batman crashed through the window, into the room that held the Ice Princess. The place was bare
exceptforthewomanandthechairthattheyhadtiedherto.Hequicklycrossedtheroomandpulledthe
gagfromhermouth.Shestartedtothankhimasheexaminedtheropesthatheldher.

“We’vegottohurry,”heexplained.“IwassetuptolooklikeIdidthis.”

“No sweat,” the Ice Princess replied brightly. “I’ll just tell the police I was kidnapped by an ugly

birdmanwithfishbreath.”

Anotherwoman’svoicecutin:“Didsomeonesay‘fish’?”

Catwomandroppeddownfromsomewhereoverhead.

“Yummy,”sheremarked.“Ihaven’tbeenfedallday.”

She leapt forward, kicking out at Batman. He stepped aside, grabbing her heel and allowing the

momentumtoflipherallthewayover.

“Eatfloor,”hereplied.“It’shighfiber.”

ButCatwomansprangupeasily.“Hey,stud,”shepouted.“Ithoughtwehadsomethingtogether.”

“Wedo,”Batmanrepliedashesprangforward,knockinghisheadagainsthers.Ofcourse,hishead

wasreinforcedwithbodyarmor.

She reeled but it was only an instant before she shook it off. He found her more impressive with

everyencounter.Sheback-flippedawayfromhim,straightfortheIcePrincess.Asingleswipeofher
talonscuttheropesthatheldtheotherwoman.

“Gotta go,” Catwoman called. “Girl talk! Guys keep out!” She threw the chair at Batman as she

pulledthesquealingprincessthroughadoorway.Thedoorslammedshutbehindthem.

Batmanswattedthechairoutofthewayandcrossedtheroominthreequickstrides.Thedoorwas

locked,dead-bolted.

Hetookastepback,thenkickeditopenwithhisboot.

Theyweren’tinthehallway.

He heard the princess scream. The sound came from an open window on the far side of the hall.

Catwomanhadtakentheprincessupthefireescape.

Batmantookthestepsupasfastashecould.Hesawthetwowomendisappearbeforehehadclimbed

halfwaytotheroof.

Hecouldn’tstopnow.Hetriedtocontrolhisbreathingashetookthemetalstairstwoandthreeata

time.Hehadtohaveenoughlefttofightwhateverhefoundontheroof.

Itwasquietabove.Nomoresoundsofstruggle.Batmanleaptontotherooftop,readytododgeorto

fight.

Catwomanwasnowheretobeseen.Instead,theIcePrincessshiveredaloneinherskimpycostumeat

thefaredgeoftheroof.

“Sheletmego,”theprincessexplained.“IthinkbecauseIreasonedwithher,girltogirl.”

This was too easy. Batman was afraid this wasn’t over. He took his first tentative steps toward the

princess.“Okay,”hesaidlevelly,“justslowlymovetowardme,awayfromtheedge.”

TheIcePrincesstriedtosmile.Shetookherfirsttentativestepforward.

“Lookout!”ThePenguinsteppedoutfrombehindanoldchimney.“Lawndart!”

He threw an umbrella straight at the Ice Princess. Its sharp point embedded itself in the rooftop,

inchesawayfromtheprincess’stoes.Shetookastepaway.

“No,”Batmancalled.“Don’tpanic!”

Theumbrelladroppedopen,releasingacloudoftinyflyingbats.TheIcePrincessscreamed,trying

somehowtogetawayfromtheflockofflyingmammals.

Batmanrantowardher.Butshewastooclosetotheedge.Theklieglightshoneupfromdownbelow,

highlightinghersilhouetteasshelostherbalanceonthebuilding’sedge.

Heleaptouttograbher.Butshewasgone.Shefellintotheklieglight’sbeam,downtoherdeath.

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

ommissionerGordondespairedatreturningordertothestreets.

He had a hundred uniformed policemen stationed around the plaza, and twenty more watched the

scenefromtheupperstoriesofsurroundingbuildings.HeknewThePenguinorsomeofhisgangwere
around here somewhere. And as soon as they showed themselves, Gordon swore that this time the
policewouldbereadyforthem.

Avoicebarkedstaticonhisremotewalkie-talkie.

“Gordonhere,”herepliedashepressedthetalkbutton.TheSergeantfilledhiminfromPrecinct12.

Someonehadtippedoffthedepartment;theIcePrincesswasbeingheldonthetopofabuildingonthe
farsideoftheplaza.

Gordonissuedinstructionsforanumberofunitstomeethimatthesceneashehurriedthroughthe

crowd.Maybethiswasthebreakhehadbeenhopingfor.

Somebody shouted and pointed toward the roofs above. There, silhouetted in the sweeping klieg

light,wasBatman,racingacrosstherooftopwitharmsoutstretched.Asecondlightpickeduptheform
ofthemissingIcePrincess,ontheveryedgeofthebuilding.Thelightssweptawayforaninstant,then
backagain,asBatmanreachedtheyoungwoman,andtheyoungwomanfellfromtherooftop!

“Batman?”someoneyelledinthecrowd.“Batmanpushedtheprincess!”

Thecommissionerfrowned.Thewaythesweepinglightshadleftthescene,therewasnowaytotell

exactlywhathadhappened.ItwasmuchmorelikelythatBatmanwastryingtosaveher.Buttherewas
nowayyoucouldtellthattoanangrycrowd.

Hecalledtothecopsaroundhim.Hehadtogetuponthatrooftop,andheneededreinforcements.

ThePenguin’splanswereperfect.

The Ice Princess fell, screaming. No one in the crowd made a sound as she plummeted toward the

platform.Shehitwithasickeningcrunch.

AndThePenguinheardnewsoundscomingfromtheChristmastree.

Thebuttonthatcontrolledthelightingofthetreewasontheplatform.Herbodymusthavehititat

theendofherfall.

Soshehadbeenabletodoherjobafterall.Toobaditwasthelastjobshewouldeverdo.

Andwhenherdyingbodyhitthebutton,diditsimplylightthetree?Oh,no,thatwouldhavebeen

muchtoosimple.Insteadoflights,ThePenguinhadfilledthetreewithcagesfullofbats,allreleasedat
thepressofthatbutton.Verysuggestive,ifThePenguindidsaysohimself.Thecrowdscreamedand
panickedasthebatsswoopedamongthem.

“Ratswithwings,”ThePenguinremarkedchipperly,“doyourthings—”

Helookedacrosstheroof.Oh,yes,Batmanwasstillhere.Well,thatwouldbetakencareofshortly.

Batmanheadedforhiminawaythatsuggestedheintendedtodogreatbodilyharm.

Penguin heard the commotion on the stairs. He stepped back so he would be behind the fire door

whenthepolicearrived.

Theytooktheelevatorstothetopfloor,thenheadedupthestairstotheroof.Therewereadozencops
in riot gear in front of Gordon, maybe two dozen more behind him. They should be able to handle
anything.

The men in front of him burst through the door above and quickly fanned out, guns at the ready.

Gordonfollowedasquicklyashisweightandagewouldallow.

HereachedtherooftoseeallgunspointedattheBatman,outlinedbytheklieglightsattheedgeof

theroof.

“Wait!”Batmancalled.

“Holdyourfire!”Gordonbegan.

ButhiswordswerelostundergunfireasahailofbulletspushedBatmanofftheedgeoftheroof.

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

is body armor had saved him. That, and the fact that he had only fallen a short distance, to a

penthouseterracemaybeadozenfeetbelow.

Hetriedtostand,andfoundhimselfpushedbacktothegroundbyahigh-heeledboot.

Catwomanstoodabovehim.Bootstillonhischest,shesmileddownathim.

“You’recatniptoagirllikeme,”shepurred.“Handsome,dazed,andtodiefor.”

Shesteppedbackandleaneddown,asifsheweregoingtokisshim.Shelickedhiminstead,catstyle,

acrossthelips.Batmanlookedupaboveherheadandrealizedshewasholdingasprigofmistletoe.

“Akissunderthemistletoe?”hemanaged,stilltryingtoregainhisbreath.“Mistletoecanbedeadly,

ifyoueatit—”

Catwoman smiled, her face still only a few inches away. “But a kiss can be even deadlier, if you

meanit.”

Shereacheddowntohisutilitybelt,andunfasteneditwithasingleflickofherclaws.Shepulledit

fromhiswaistandtosseditoffthesideoftheroof.

“You’rethesecondmanwhokilledmethisweek,”sheremarkedsadly.“But,hey,noprob.I’vegot

sevenlivesleft.”

Killed her? He realized she must mean her own fall from that other roof. Maybe now he could

explain.

“Itriedtograbyou—saveyou—”

She looked meaningfully toward the edge of the roof. “Seems like every woman you try to save

windsupdead”—sheturnedbacktoBatman—“ordeeplyresentful.”

Shegrabbedhisarmorwithherclawsandyankedhimtohisfeet.

“Maybe,”shesuggested,“it’stimetoretire.”Sheswipedtowardhismaskwithherclaws.

Itwastimetogetoutofhere.Batmanjumpedbackward,awayfromherandofftheroof.Thistime,

though,hewasreadyforthefall.

Hepressedasmallbuttonathiswaist,andtwinwingssproutedfromeithersideofhisarmor,turning

himintoagliderthatwouldgentlysaildowntotheground.

He swooped down, surrounded by the rising bats from the Christmas tree below. That must be

anotherofThePenguin’sspecialtouches.He’dhavetothankthebirdmanpersonally,assoonashe’d
hadachancetorecover.

He banked over the crowd, heading for the alley and the Batmobile. He was coming in very fast.

He’dhavetoskirtoverthetopofthecrowd,thentrytohitthepavementrunning.Withluck,hecould

foldinthewingsandsomersaulttoastop.

Thealleywasn’tlargeenoughforthewings.Hetriedtopullthemcloseashetoucheddown,butthe

wingsweretooawkwardtomaneuverinthisnarrowspace.Helosthisfooting,andwentfromaruntoa
stumble.Theleftwingshatteredagainstabrickwallashecollapsedforward,skiddingonthepavement.

Batmangroaned.Hehadhitthegroundhard.Thegroundspunaroundbeforehim.Buthehadtoget

up.Safetywasonlyafewfeetaway.

HehadtogettotheBatmobile.

TheCatwomanandThePenguinsatontheedgeoftheterrace,watchingtheBatman’swingscollapsein
thealley.

My,shethought,thatdidlookpainful.Allinall,averysatisfyingfallfortheBatman.

AndThePenguinhadbroughtchampagne.

Hehandedoveraglass.

ShelookedbackatThePenguin.Howcouldhebesohappy?Well,ofcourse,theyhadtotallyframed

andhumiliatedtheBatman.Butsomeonehadgottenkilledintheprocess.

“YousaidyouweregoingtoscaretheIcePrincess!”shesaidwithafrown.

“AndIkeptmyword!”ThePenguinrepliedwithcontinuedjoviality.“Theladylookedterrified.”

Catwomanfrowneddownattheglassofchampagne.ShewasbeginningtothinkThePenguinwasn’t

herkindofperson.

Hereachedwithinoneofthemanypocketsofhissoiledcoat,andpulledforthwhatmustoncehave

beenaboxfromTiffany’s.Itwasnowrathertheworseforthewear,bothwornandstained,asifithad
spentalongtimewithThePenguindowninthesewers.

He opened the box, revealing a golden ring that was so overdone with gaudy, amazingly, even

horrifying gems that it was hideous; almost like someone had lost their lunch in a jewelry store. She
lookedbackatThePenguin.Whatwashetryingtoprove?

“Sowhatarewewaitingfor?”heurged.“Let’sconsummateourfiendishunion!”

Union?Shefrowned.

“Oh,please,”shesaidwithashudder.“Iwouldn’ttouchyoutoscratchyou!”

Thatapparentlywasthewronganswer.ThePenguinbegantoquakewithrage.

“Ioughtahaveyouspayed!”heshouted.“Yousentoutallthesignals!”

Catwomanpausedtothinkaboutthat.

“Did I?” she asked. And silently answered, maybe she did. “Only because my mom trained me to,

withaman—”Ohyeah.Sherememberedhermom’swarnings.HeavenforfendSelinashouldbeanOld
Maid!“—anyman,”sheadded,“—allmen—”

ThisCatoutfithadbroughtitoutevenmore.Whycouldn’tshelookatwhatshewasdoing?“Corn

dog!”shemuttered,hittingherselfonthesideoftheheadforgoodmeasure.

Butwhywassheblamingherselfagain?ShehadpromisedthatonceshehaddonnedtheCatwoman

outfit,shewouldplacetheblamewhereitbelonged—onmen!SheturnedtoThePenguinwithanew
resolve.

“Me,domesticated?”sheaskedangrily.“Byyou?Idoubtit!Yourepulsive,awful—”Shehesitated

foraninstant,lookingforsomesufficientlyinsultingwaytoendtheremark,buttherereallywasonly
onewaytocompletethesentence.“—Penguin!”

ThePenguinhuggedhisumbrellaclose,mortallyoffended.“ThenameisOswaldCobblepot.”

Heflungtheumbrellaather.Shedodgedtheshaft,butthehandlesnakedaroundherneck,forminga

noose as the ribs of the umbrella spun above her, creating a rotor that lifted her from the roof. She
couldn’tbreathe.

ThePenguinwavedsadlyastheumbrellacopterliftedherfromtheground.

“Andthewedding’sbeencalledoff.”

Hewasgoingtohangherwithhisumbrella!

CHAPTERTHIRTY

hesawThePenguinturnmoodilyawayastheumbrellawhirledherawayfromtherooftopandout

overGothamCity.

But she would strangle. There had to be some way to loosen this noose. She reached up with her

claws,strikingattheropethatstretchedacrossthebackofherneck.

Sheslicedthroughit.Shecouldbreathe.

Butshewasnolongerbeingheldaloftbytheumbrella,whichwentspinningeverhigherasshefell.

Shesawlightsimmediatelybelow.Aglassenclosureonanotherroof.Apenthousemaybe.

Shecrashedthroughtheroof.

Sheopenedhereyes.Shehadlandedindirt,surroundedbyflowers.Thiswasn’tjustapenthouse,it

wasagreenhouse.

SoCatwomansurvived.Butwasshehappy?

Shewailedloudenoughtobreaktherestoftheglass.

Anotherlifedownthetubes.

Therewerebannersandpostersallovertheplace—windows,telephonepoles,eventhecampaignbus—
andallsaying,inadozendifferentways,tovoteCobblepotforMayor.

ThePenguinlovedthoseslogans.Max’sboysweresogoodatthosesortofthings.

Hissupportersclusteredaroundhim,cheering.Sowhycouldn’theshakethisgloom?Maybeithad

somethingtodowithkillingnotonebabe,buttwo!Itseemedlikesuchawasteofgoodwomanflesh—
especiallybeforeheandthosebabescouldbecomemorepersonallyacquainted.Hepulledahandfulof
campaignbuttonsoutofoneofhismanypockets,andstartedtopinthemonthechestsofhissupporters
—his female supporters—his well-endowed female supporters. Hey, he started to feel better already.
Whatwasadeadbabeortwo,whentherewerealltheseotherbabestogoaround?

Still, he had other fish to fry at the moment. After waving a fond adieu, especially to a couple of

blondes, he jumped aboard his bus and hurried back to his specially designed miniature Batmobile,
completewithswitches,meters,dials,knobs,levers,buttons,andamini-steeringwheel.Whatmadethis
evenmorespecial,ofcourse,wasthateverysinglebutton,leverandknobonthisboardcontrolledsome
functionoftherealBatmobile.

Hey.ThePenguincackled.Thiscouldcheerhimupevenmore.

Hisbodyhadtakentoomuchabuse;toomanypunchesandkicksandbullets,compoundedbyhiscrash

intothealley.Hisbodyarmorhadabsorbedsomeoftheshock.Buthisbodyhadreceivedtherestofit.

Somehow, Batman got to his feet. Somehow, he made it to the Batmobile. He pressed a button

beneathhisgloveandswitchedoffthesecuritysystem.

And not a moment too soon, he thought, as he heard angry voices behind him. He could make out

enough of their shouts as he popped open the door to the Batmobile to figure out the source of their
anger.Theywantedhim,andnotnecessarilyalive.TheythoughthehadmurderedtheIcePrincess.In
theirminds,hewasalreadytried,convicted,andreadyforexecution.Nowthatthey’dfoundhim,they
weren’tgoingtolethimgetaway;awholemobofself-appointedvigilantes.

Vigilantes.Ithadafamiliarringtoit.WhatmadethemsodifferentfromBatman?

Onlyperhapsthathehadthemoneyforthepropertraining,andthestate-of-the-artequipment.And

maybe,justmaybe,hehadhisangerunderalittlemorecontrol.

Thevoicesweregettingcloser.Theleadingedgeofthecrowdwasonlyafewyardsaway.

Nowwasn’tthetimetothinkaboutthis.Nowitwastimetogetoutofhere.

Hejumpedintothedriver’sseatandslammedthedoorshutabovehim.Themobcouldn’treachhim

now.Heexhaled,givinghimselfamoment’speacebeforehetooktheBatmobilehome.

Thedoorslocked.Thecontrolpanelflashedon.Theengineroaredtolife.

Batmanstaredatthecontrols.Hehadn’ttouchedanything.

ThesmallTVmonitorbythesideofthewheelblippedon.ButinsteadofAlfred’sface,Batmansaw

thegloatingfeaturesofThePenguin.

“Don’tadjustyourset,”thevillainremarkedpleasantly.“WelcometotheOswaldCobblepotSchool

ofDriving.Gentlemen,startyourscreaming—”

TheBatmobileslammedforwardasifBatmanhadflooredtheaccelerator.Batman’spursuersjumped

wildlyforcoverasthecarcareenedforwardandturned,tiressquealing,ontothestreet.

ThePenguinhaditall!

He had two screens in front of him. One showed him Batman’s face. Very tense. Definite Type A

personality. If Batman wasn’t careful, he’d get an ulcer. That is, if he lived long enough. Which he
wouldn’t.

The second screen showed a driver’s-eye view of where the Batmobile was going. Very important,

sinceThePenguinwasdoingthesteering.AndnodoubthewouldsteertheBatmobilestraightintoan
accident.Butithadtobeaspectacularaccident.AndtheBatmobileshouldrunoverasmanyinnocent
bystandersaspossiblebeforeithappened.Afterall,whyonlysullyahero’sreputationwhen,withjusta
littlemoreeffort,youcoulddestroyitcompletely?

“Maybethiswouldbeabadtimetomentionit,”ThePenguinsaidtohisownpersonalvideocamera,

theonewhosesignalwasbeingpipedtotheBatmobile,“butmylicensehasexpired.”

He turned the Batmobile toward the crowd-filled plaza, and once again pressed his own personal

accelerator.

“Ofcourse,”ThePenguinaddedwithacackle,“sohaveyou.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE

atmanwasinthemiddleofanightmare.

First,hiscarhadbeentakenoutofhiscontrol.Batmanpunchedouttheinstrumentpanelinfrontof

him.Itlookedlikehalfthesystemhadbeenrewired.

Howhadtheymanagedthis?HehadonlylefttheBatmobilealoneforafewminutes.Thetimeand

expertisetoaccomplishthissortofthingwasstaggering.TheyhadnotonlyriggedtheBatmobile,they
hadalsofoiledthosewarningsystemshehadbuiltintotellhimofjustthissortoftampering.

And once the car was under another’s control, it was being driven at top speed directly toward the

Christmas crowds. Apparently, The Penguin wouldn’t be satisfied with only the Batman’s death. He
wantedinnocentbystanderstodieaswell.

Batmanhadunderestimatedhisopponent.Andhewouldpayforit,unlesshecouldfigureoutsome

waytoretakecontrol.

Batman ripped out a handful of the new wiring, then a second. The car sped forward. A lever

hummedasitstarteddownward.ThePenguinwasactivatingtheweaponssystems.Batmangrabbedthe
leverandpusheditbackupwithallhisstrength.

“Batman!”ThePenguinbarkedonthemonitor.“Iknowyou’renothavingaswelltime,butletme

tellyou.Takingcontrolofyourvehicle,mowingdowndecentpeople,andlayingthebadvibessquarely
onyou—makesthehairsinmynosetingle.”

Batmanwastrapped.

TheleverthatcontrolledtheBatdiscsslammeddownagain.Andthistime,nomatterhowmuchhe

tried,Batmancouldn’tbudgeit.

Penguinglancedupathisthirdmonitor,theonehookedintocableTV.

“Batmanisoutofcontrol!”areporterwasshouting.“FirsthemurderedtheIcePrincess,andnow—”

HisreportingwascutmercifullyshortasoneoftheBatmobile’sBatdiscsthunkedhimonthesideof

thehead.My,ThePenguinthought,he’dalwayswantedtodosomethinglikethat.Probablymussedthe
reporter’shairupnoend.

HeturnedhisattentionbacktotheBatmobile.

“Ha!”hesaidtohiscamera.“Theflimsiestevidence,andallthosetaterheadsturnonyou!Hey,just

relax,andI’lltakecareofthesquealing,wretched,pinheadpuppetsofGotham.”

Helookedoutofhisdrivingmonitor.ScreamingGothamiteswerefleeingeverywhichwayinfront

ofthemaraudingBatmobile.Butwait!Lookatthatdefenselessgrandmothertheyhadleftbehind.She
staredattheon-rushingcar,frozenwithfear.ThiswasthesortofvictimThePenguinlikedtosee.

“Helplessoldladyattwelveo’clock!”heannouncedforBatman’sbenefit.

ThePenguinpresseddownontheaccelerator.

Something around here still had to control the car, if only so that the vehicle would respond to the
remotesignals.TheBatmanjusthadtothinkitthrough,butfast,beforeThePenguin’scommandofthe
Batmobilekilledsomeone.

Hepulledopentheceilingpanel,revealingamassoffuses,therealcontrolcenteroftheBatmobile.

Butwhichone?Hetriedtovisualizeallthechartshe’ddrawnwhenhe’dhelpedtodesignthisthing.
Thirdonefromtheleftshoulddoit.Orsohehoped.

Batmanreachedupandpulled.

TheBatmobilesquealedtoahalt.

Theoldlady,onlyafewfeetinfrontofthesuddenlystillvehicle,ranawayatlast.

Onesaved,Batmanthought.Andonemoretogo.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

he Penguin cackled happily on the monitor. For the merest of instants, Batman thought about

disablingthemonitorinstead.

Butthatwouldsavehisego,nothislife.

“Yougottaadmit,”ThePenguincroaked.“I’veplayedthisstinkingcitylikeaharpfromhell!”

Notforlong,Batmanthought.Hedrovehisfistthroughthemonitor,silencingThePenguinwitha

showerofsparks.There.Sometimesyoujustneededtofeedyourego.

AndmaybetherewasanotherwaytostoptheBatmobile.

Hekickeddownwardwithhisheelonce,twice,threetimes.There.Thefloorpanelhadbentenough

forhimtopryitup.

Hepulleditfree,revealingamassofwiresandspinninggears.

He punched down quickly, trusting his glove to protect him from the gears, and popped open the

bottom panel so that he could see the spinning ground below. There, mounted to the Batmobile’s
undercarriage,wassomesortofantennae;nodoubttheheartofThePenguin’scontrol.

Batmanreacheddownandsnappeditintwo.

Nowitwastimetogetoutofhere.

BatmanhittheacceleratorandshotbetweentwoofthepolicecarsandoutofGothamPiaza.

What?

ThePenguincouldn’tbelieveit.

“Came this close to a perfect evening!” he cried in anguish. He pounded the controls. “Iced the

princess. Blew away Batman. Almost got married. Killed the bitch.” He held up two black-gloved
fingers.“Thisclose!”

But somehow Batman had gotten away. Gotten away! It was enough to sour The Penguin’s whole

day.

Luckily, he had his other plans to fall back on. The mayor’s race, for one. And after that, his

masterstroke,somagnificentlynastythathecouldforgetanysmallfailingshere.

NotthatGothamCitywouldeverforget.No,hewassurethat,oncehisplanswerecomplete,they’d

rememberOswaldCobblepot—forever.

Batmanwasn’tinthedearyet.

Threepolicecarshadmanagedtogivechase.Acoupleofthemhadcopsfiringathim.Notthatthat

was a worry. Even a damaged Batmobile was sufficiently bulletproof. But if possible, he needed to
shakethesecruiserswithouthurtinganybodyelse.

Herummagedthroughtheexposedwiresonthedashboard.Thatwasasecondproblem;heneededto

override whatever damage The Penguin had done to his vehicle, and get the Batmobile’s functions
operatingatalevelthatwouldhelphimwithhisescape.

Hemadeasharpright.Thecruisersmanagedtofollow.Thestreetnarrowedinfrontofhim,intoa

spacesonarrowthatyoucouldbarelycallitanalley.MuchtoonarrowfortheBatmobile,orthepolice
cruisers.ItwastimeforoneofthosespecialBatmobilefunctionsrightnow.

Batmanflippedaswitch.Nothinghappened.Theswitchwasdead.

Butthewiresthatcontrolledthatswitchwerestillherebehindthedashboard.Batmanpushedaside

thetorninstrumentpanelandquicklypulledthetwoloosewiresoutofthemass.Hesparkedtheirends
together.Now.

Thewindshieldwipersbegantobeatbackandforth.Notatallwhathehadwanted.

“That’s funny,” Batman murmured. How many wires had The Penguin’s thugs tampered with? He

frowneddownattheassemblyaround.Butwherecouldthewiresbethatheneeded?

Thealleywascomingupfast.

“NowI’malittleworried—”hebegan.“Oh.”Theretheywere.

Heconnectedtherightwiresthistime.

The sides of the Batmobile fell away as the wheels realigned themselves beneath him, making his

vehicle a streamlined bullet of a car, narrow enough to fit through the space immediately ahead—
somethinghecalledtheBatmissile.

Theytriedtofollow,butonlysucceededinwedgingtheirvehiclebetweenthewalls.Fromthenoise

thatfollowed,Batmansurmised,thattheothertwocruiserspiledintothebackofthefirst.

Hewasintheclear.Heleanedintohisturn,anddisappearedintodarkness.

Hejustwasn’tinthemood.

Max Shreck stood by his side, trying to be cheerful enough for both of them as he guided The

Penguintowardtheplatformwherehewasscheduledtogivehisspeech.

“—sohesurvived,”Maxsaiddismissively.“Comeon,beamensch.Standtall—”Hisvoicetrailed

off as he saw the look The Penguin gave him. Perhaps Max recalled that, the last time Oswald
Cobblepothadfeltthisway,he’dalmostbittenoffsomebody’snose.Ofcourse,sincethatincident,the
lovelyJenseemedtohavekeptherdistance,too.Somewomenwerejusttoosensitive.

ButPenguincouldn’tthinkaboutwomen.Nowthatwastrulymisery!No,allhecouldthinkofwas

Batman—aliving,breathing,totallyintactBatman.

“Hedidn’tevenlosealimb,aneyeball.”Hesighedattheindignity.“Bladdercontrol!”

Maxwouldn’tlisten.Hewavedatthecheeringcrowdintheplaza,andpointedatthelatestbanner:

RECALLTHEMAYOR.

Straightandtothepoint.

“Point is,” Max insisted as he waved to the audience, “listen to them. They’ve lost faith in the old

symbols.They’rereadytobondwithyou,theiconofthefuture.”Hesmiledencouragingly.“Ifitworks,
don’tfixit—”

Well, yeah, they were yelling for him, weren’t they? He could hear a chant rising from the throng.

“Os-wald,Oswald,Os-wald.”Yeah.OswaldCobblepot,herototheteemingmillionsofGothamCity.
Not the Mayor. Not Batman. Oswald Cobblepot. He stared gloomily at the special deluxe black
umbrellahecarriedfortheoccasion.

“We’llcelebratetonight,”Shreckinsisted,“atmyannualMax-squeradeBall.ShreckandCobblepot,

thevisionaryalliance!”

ButPenguin’seyeswereonthecrowd.Theywereallscreaming.Theywereallscreamingforhim.

Moreimportant,alotofthemwerewomen,screamingforhim.No,theyweren’tjustwomen,theywere
babes;cheap,maybe,tawdrymostcertainly,buttheywerehisbabes.ScreamingCobblepotGroupies.It
gave him a reason to go on. To think that a poor boy, abandoned by his parents, raised in a rotting
exhibitontheedgeofthesewersbyemperorandkingpenguins,couldgetthesekindofbabes.Thiswas
America—trulythelandofopportunity!

The Penguin moved to the microphone, and the cheering redoubled. He could feel the adulation of

themasses,anditgavehimstrength.Whenhespoke,hisvoicewasnolongerasimplesquawk.Nowit
wasaboomingsquawk.

“Whenitcameourtimetoensurethesafetyofourcity,didtheMayorhaveaplan?”ThePenguin

began.“No,hereliedonaman.A‘bat’man!”

Thecrowdscreamedtheiradulation.ForThePenguin,morethanjustOswaldCobblepot,abandoned

childandsometimecrook.No,theyscreamedforOswaldCobblepot,supremerulerofGotham!

Yes,ThePenguincouldreallygetintothis!

SelinaKylestoodandwatchedallthehoopla,andallthecheering,forthetwomenwhohadtriedtokill
her.

MaxShreck.

OswaldCobblepot.A.k.a.ThePenguin.

Shedidn’tbegrudgethemtheirfew,pitifulmomentsofglory.Shewantedthemtogoashighasthis

campaignwouldallow.

Theheights,afterall,wouldmaketheirfallsomuchmoresatisfying.

Catwomanwasn’tplayinganymore.Itwastimeforhertosharpenherclaws.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE

ruceWaynefoundhimselfwatchingtelevisionagain,andanotherofthosenever-endingmediaevents

withThePenguin.

Andthistime,ThePenguinwastalkingaboutBatman.

“Atickingtimebombofacostumedfreak,”theoverblownpoliticianexclaimedtothecrowd,“who

finallyexplodedlastnight,sprayingthiscitywithashrapnelofshame!”

ThePenguinwasthere.Thecrowdwasthere.TheTVcameraswerethere.Itwastime.

Brucewalkedovertohisaquarium,andreachedintothereplicaofWayneManorinthemiddleofthe

exoticfish.Hefishedoutakeyfromanupperbedroomwindow.

Alfred frowned at the TV. “I’m less worried about this ghastly, grotesque—more concerned about

repairingtheBatmobile.It’snotasthoughwecansimplybringittoJoe’sBodyShop.Isit,sir?”

Bruceglancedupatthebutler.Lookwhowasworriedaboutsecurity.

“Hey, who let Vicki Vale into the Batcave?” he asked with a smile and a shake of his head. “I’m

sittingthereworking,Iturnaround,it’slike,‘Oh,hi,Vick.C’monin.’”

Thebutlerdidnothingmorethanraiseaneyebrow.Sometimes,Brucewonderedwhoexactlywasin

chargearoundhere.

Buttherewereother,moreinterestingthingstowonderabout.“Selina,”Brucemusedasheshookthe

wateroffhiswrist.“MorefacetsthanVicki,huh?”HewalkedovertoanIronMaideninanothercorner
oftheroom.“Funny,butsortofmysterious—”

Alfrednoddedcurtly.“That’syourownaffair,sir.”

Was it really? Whenever Alfred allowed his employer to have an opinion—rather than curtly

commentinguponhismistakes—itmeantthebutleractuallyapprovedofBruce’slatestinterest.

AndBruceWaynealwaysheldAlfred’sopinionsinthehighestregard.

“Affair,”hemurmured.“Yes,maybe—ifshe—”

Helettherestofthesentencehangasheplacedthekeyinthemaiden’slockandturned.Itsprang

opentorevealitsdeadlyspikes.Brucesteppedinside.

“IbelieveI’lltakethestairs,”Alfredcommenteddryly.

ThespikesretreatedandthebottomdroppedoutfromunderBruce.

HewasonhiswaytotheBatcave.

AndThePenguinwasonhiswaytoasurprise.

Bruce jumped from the chute that had brought him from the mansion above. He pulled out the
recordableCDthathehadtakenfromtheBatmobile,andinserteditintohisspeciallymodifiedplayer.

Alfredcamepuffingdownthestairsbehindhim.ThePenguinwasdisplayedinallhisgloryonthe

largemonitorthatdominatedthiscornerofthecave.Hedronedonwithhisnever-endingspeech.

“Youask,amIuphereforpersonalglory?”ThePenguinasked.

Thatwasit,Brucethought.KeepontalkinguntilIcangettheequipmentsetupproperlyandAlfred

candeterminethefrequency.Heflippedawholebankofswitches.

“Ha!”Cobblepotbarked.“Itoiledformanyyearsinhappyobscurity,beneathyourboulevards.”

In the meantime, Alfred toiled as well. He sat down at his own console, and punched up the

FIND

FREQUENCY

command.Thecomputersonlytookafewsecondstorespondwith

FREQUENCYFOUND

.They

had the signal. Now, all they needed was to make a few minor adjustments, and those modifications
BatmanhadmadetotheGothamPlazapublicaddresssystemshouldsoonbecomeapparent.

“No,”ThePenguincontinued,oblivioustothefunthatwastocome,“thegloryIyearntorecaptureis

thegloryofGotham!”

Alfredpunchedinanothercommand,

JAMFREQUENCY

“Howcanthisbeaccomplished?”ThePenguincontinuedgrandly.“Iknowyou’reallconcerned.”

FREQUENCYJAMMED

.That’swhatitsaidonAlfred’scomputer.

Itwastimetoplay.

ThePenguinwasonaroll.HehadallthebirdsandbabesinGothaminthepalmofhisflipper!

“—thegloryofGotham!”heshouted.

Everybodycheered.

“Howcanthisbeaccomplished?”hecalled.

“Tellus!”theycalledback.“Wewanttoknow,Oswald!”

“Iknowyou’reallconcerned,”hecontinued,“andI’lltellyou!”

Therewasnoresponse.Hismicrophonehadgonedead.

Certainly,itwasonlyamomentaryglitchinthecommunicationssystem.Max’speoplewouldhaveit

fixedinajiffy.ThePenguindecidedtorepeatthelastsentence,justtoseeifhe’dgetanyresults.

“Iknow—”hebegan.

Hisvoiceboomedbackathim:“Hey,justrelaxandI’lltakecareofthesquealing,wretched,pinhead

puppetsofGotham!”

ThePenguinstaredatthemicrophone.

“Waitasec—”hesputtered.“Ididn’tsaythat!”

Atleast,hehadn’tsaiditsincelastnight,whenhewastalkingtoBatman.

Lastnight?Batman?

Butnobodycouldhearhisrealvoiceanymore.Instead,hisrecordedvoiceboomedon.

“Yougottaadmit,I’veplayedthisstinkingcitylikeaharpfromhell!”

Butthoseremarkswerestrictlyofftherecord!Not,ofcourse,thathedidn’tmeanthem,butnotin

frontofthebabes!

The crowd was booing now, and throwing things! His campaign workers were backing away from

him.ThePenguinturnedandglaredatMax.Howcouldheallowsomethinglikethistohappen?

Perhapsitwastimetorethinkhiscampaign.

BruceWayneallowedhimselfasmile.

Thecrowdwasreactingjustashe’dhopedtheywould,angrythatThePenguinhaddeceivedthem.

AndThePenguin,notthemoststableofindividuals,wasgettingangryrightbackatthem!

WhatcouldBrucedonowbutraisethestakes?

HepunchedaseriesofbuttonsandplacedhispalmontheCD,lettingthecomputersingleoutthat

specialphrase.Hereitwas.

“Thisstinkingcity—”andagain,“stinkingcity—stinkingcity—stink-stink-stinkingcity—”Justlike

aDJatoneofthosedowntownclubs.Penguin,howdoyoulikethatrap?

“—stink-stink—”

Hey,ithadabeat.AndwhosaidBatmanwasn’tup-to-date?

ThePenguinfellbackfromthemicrophone,spinningaround,almostlosinghisbalance.

“—stink-stink—stinkingcity—”

Somebodyhithimwithasnowball,lettuce,tomatoes.

Andtheperformancewenton.

“—stink—stinking—stink—”

ItwasmusictoBruce’sears.

ThePenguinhadtogetoutofthisplace.

Hegrabbedhisumbrella.Now,ifhecouldgettherotormotorworking.

Butwait!He’dbroughtthewrongumbrellaforescape.Why,afterall,wouldhehavetoescapefrom

his adoring crowd? The Penguin squawked bitterly. Say something bad about Gotham, belittle the
populacealittle,andhowsoonthingschange!

ThisblacknumberThePenguinheldnowhadanotherfunctionentirely.

People threw more things at the stage. And, even worse, some of the missiles were finding The

Penguin.Rottenfruit,vegetables,eggs?

“Whyistherealwayssomeonewhobringseggsandtomatoestoaspeech?”hecriedaloud.

HeguesseditwasjustapartoftheAmericanWay.Well,hecarriedanotherpartofthatinalienable

dreaminhisumbrella:therighttobeararms.

Heliftedhisbumbershootandsprayedbulletsintothecrowd.

Turnonme,willyou,GothamCity?

Somehow, this just seemed to make the audience more upset. The Penguin decided it was time to

headforcoolerclimes.

He jumped from the stage, heading out of the plaza and toward the park. A number of the good

citizensgavechase.

Oh, dear. He didn’t want to encourage a mob scene. He managed to leap a park bench, but the

Gothamitesweregaining.Heturnedandgavethemanothertasteoflead.

Still, his machine umbrella didn’t have a limitless amount of ammunition. And cops were showing

up,returninghisfire!

Hehadtogetoutofhere.

That bridge, ahead, looked awfully familiar. Almost like it was out of a storybook someplace, a

quaint stone bridge nestled in the woods above a rushing stream. Except the Penguin thought this
particular story was much more personal: He had visions of a baby carriage, and another fall, a long
timeago.

ThePenguinjumped,losinghimselfintheicywatersoftheriverbelow,andthesewerbeyondthathe

calledhome.

Somuchforpolitics.

Nowitwastimetogetdowntohisrealbusiness.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

hePenguintrudgedoutofthesewerpipe.Hewaswet,bedraggled,andhumiliated,buthewashome.

Hekepthiseyeslow,partiallyperhapsfromdejection,butalsofromself-preservation.Youneverknew
quitewhatthesewersheld.

Hebangedintosomething.Helookedup.Itwashisrubber-duckboat.Yes,hecouldusethisinhis

plans, too, those same plans he’d let Max and his own foolishness lead him away from. What did he
care about babes? When the time came, The Penguin would take all the babes he wanted, and there
wouldbenoonetostophim!

Hejumpedintotheboatandrevveditoverthesewagelagoontohisarcticisland.There,ahead,were

thepenguins,hispenguins,squawkingandplaying.

ThePenguinsmileddespitehispain.

“Mybabies,”hemurmured.“Didyoumissme?”

Thepenguinsseemedtosquawkinreply.Hedrovehisduckuptothedockashesawthefirstfew

membersoftheRedTriangleCircusGangenterhislairthroughthemaintunnel.Heguessedthingsgot
alittlebittoohotforthem,too,afterhisspeech.OrthespeechthatBatmanmadeforhim.

Thereweredebtstobepaid,whenthetimecame.

TheclownwavedandboundedovertoThePenguinasheclimbedfromhiscraft.

“Greatspeech,Oswald!”hisgrease-paintedcronysaidwithalaugh.“Thewayyoutoldthoserubes

thescore!”

Penguinsmackedtheclownontheheadwithhisumbrella.

“Myname’snotOswald,”hebarked,“it’sThePenguin!”Yeah,hethought.Thatwasmorelikeit.“I

amnotahumanbeing!”hecontinued.“I’mananimal!Coldblooded!CranktheA.C.!”

He pulled off his tuxedo coat and those damned gloves. Ah, how good it felt for his flippers to be

free!Itwastimetogetcold.

“Where’smylist?”hedemanded.“Bringmethenames!”

With that, the Knife Lady entered the lair, carrying a great stack of yellow legal pads with all the

informationhe’dgathered,courtesyoftheHallofRecordsandtheGothamCityphonebook.

“It’stime!”Hechortledwithglee,hoppingfromonefoottotheother.ForthiswasthenightofMax’s

party, the social event of the season, and all his victims would be unprotected. Yes, indeed. “Gotham
willneverforget.”

Hetoreoffthetoppageandhandedittothefirstofhisminions,thenthesecondpagetoanother.

“EvanBlack,”readanacrobatwho’dtakenapage,“181Shepard’sLane?”

“ThomasFrankel?”theclownchimedinfromthepagehenowheld,“273CarltonAvenue?”

ThePenguindecidedhe’dbetterspellitoutforallofthem.

“ThesearethefirstbornsonsofGothamCity!”hecriedtotheassembledgang.“LikeIwas!Andjust

likeme,aterriblefatewaitsforthem!Tonight,whiletheirparentsparty,they’llbedreamingawayin
theirsafecribs,theirsoftbeds,andwewillsnatchthem”—heclosedhisflippersintoanapproximation
offists—“carrythemintothesewer”—hedancedmerrilyovertothewater’sedge—“andtosstheminto
adeep,dark,waterygrave!”

Someofthegangmembersmutteredatthat.Afewevenexchangedlooks.Theacrobatwho’dtaken

thefirstyellowpagelookedtohisboss.

“Ummm,Penguin?”hesaidhesitantly.“Imean—kids?Sleeping?Isn’tthatalittle—”

ThePenguinloftedhissleekblackumbrellaandshottheacrobatdead.Nottomentiontopieces.

“No,”hefinishedtheother’ssentencedryly,“it’salot.”

The rest of the Red Triangle Circus Gang managed a hasty cheer. Good. Showed just what a little

well-placeddisciplinecoulddo.

Nottomentionafewwell-placedbullets.

Therewerecertaindutiesabutlerneverapprovedof.Still,adutywasaduty,andcouldnotbeforgotten
until it was fulfilled. So it was that Alfred took the invitation down to the Batcave to remind his
employer.

MasterBrucewashardatworkontheundercarriageoftheBatmobile,whichstilllookedlikeatotal

shambles.Alfredwouldnotbesurprisedifittookweekstogetthevehicleinproperworkingorder.

Alfredclearedhisthroat.Brucelookedupfromhiswork,andthebutlerprofferedtheinvitation.He

helditasfarawayfromhimselfaspossible.Hewishedhedidn’thavetoholditatall.

“Mr. Wayne,” Alfred managed. “A reminder. Tonight is that loathsome party, hosted by that failed

kingmaker,MaxShreck.MayweRSVPintheresoundingnegative?”

Hisemployerpausedforamomentbeforeresponding.“I’mtempted,but”—hefrowned—“well,itis

an occasion for celebration, and—ummmm”—his frown changed to the slightest of smiles—“Selina
willprobablybethere.”

Oh,dear.Therewerecertainmoreimportantthings,then,thansnubbingkingmakers.

“Ah,”Alfredreplied.Heregardedhisemployerforaninstant.“Who,mayIask,areyougoingas?”

ButBruceonlysmiledenigmatically.

“You’llneverguess.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

his,atleast,wouldcomeoutright.

These last few days had not been among the best for Max Shreck. First, there was that little

altercation with Selina. Unfortunate how Max’s temper could sometimes get the better of him. It was
veryfortunateshesurvivedhertumblefromthetower,hesupposed,althoughthefalldidseemtohave
donesomethingtoherbrain.Perhapsitwouldbebetter,aftertheholidayseasonwaspast,tohaveher
removed.Permanently.ExceptthistimeMaxwouldhavethejobdonebyoutsideprofessionals.Hewas
muchtoobigamantogetpersonallyinvolvedinthatsortofthinganymore.

And what about The Penguin? Max had thought he had seen opportunity knocking with the little

birdman, but unfortunately, his chosen candidate appeared to have even more screws loose than the
averagepolitician.AtleastnowthatThePenguinhadbeendisgracedandwasthesubjectofamassive
policemanhunt,heandhisthreatswereoutofMax’slifeforgood.

Sonowitwastimeforthebigparty,timeforholidaycheer,timetoforgettheoldandembracethe

new. And it was a time for renewal, and a new year to finally get his special power plant under
construction.

Yes,therehadbeensomepitfallsalongtheway,butMaxhadsuccessfullyavoidedthemall.Andhe

wanted to show he was still here, and still kicking. What better way to do that than hold his annual
Max-squerade in the recently bombed department store, patched up and lit like a nightclub for this
occasion?

Sometimes,Maxwassocleverhesurprisedevenhimself.

Hehaddressedhimselfinaspecialturbanheaddressfortonight’sparty.Justlikeaswamiwhoknows

all. And the guests started to arrive in droves. He saw someone dressed as the leaning tower of Pisa,
anotherdressedasthesinkingoftheTitanic.

But, with all the varied costumes, it was telling that there wasn’t a single penguin. How fickle the

publicwasinGothamCity!

Maxclimbedupontheplatform.Itwastimeforthepartytobegin.

“Attention,shoppers!”hecalledintothemicrophone.

Anumberoftheguestslaughedappreciatively.They’dbetter,withwhatthiswascostingMax.But,

hey,thegoodwillthisgenerated,especiallyamongcertainGothamCitydepartmentsandcommissions!
Apartywasalwaysworthwhilewhenitgotofficialstolooktheotherway.

“Like this splendid department store,” Max continued, “Gotham can quickly bounce back from the

tumult,thesturmanddrangofthepastdays.”Heliftedbothhishandsabovehisheadandwavedtothe
crowd.“Sodeckthehallsandshakeyourbooties!”

Thebandbehindhimlaunchedintoatunewithaheavybeat,andanumberoftheguestsobligingly

crowdedthemakeshiftdancefloor.

Maxspottedthemayor,wearingaJuliusCaesartoga,completewithrubberknifehandlesandalotof

fake blood. Max lifted his drink in a toast to the mayor with his best “forgive me” smile. The Mayor
noddednoncommittally.Still,theveryfactthatHisHonorhadattendedmeantherealizedhowmuchhe
neededMaxShreck’smoney,power,andinfluence.

Maxturnedtostareattheanothernewcomerwhostoodoutinthecrowd.

ItwasBruceWayne.Obviously.BecauseBruceWaynehadcomedressedashimself.

Well,nomatterwhatWaynedecidedtodo,Maxdecidedheshouldbethegracioushost.Especially

consideringWayne’smoney,power,andinfluence.

“Ingeniouscostume,”MaxremarkedasheshookWayne’shand.“Letmeguess—trustfundgoody-

goody?”

ButWaynewasn’tinthemoodforbanter.“Ofcourseyou’refeelingfine,”herepliedwithafrown.

“YoualmostmadeamonsterthemayorofGothamCity.”

WhatwasthisBruceWaynetalkingabout?Didn’therealizeallthatPenguinbusinesswaspartofthe

past?

Maxtookadeepbreath.“Iamthelightofthiscity.AndIamitsmean,twistedsoul.Doesitreally

matterwho’sthemayor?”

Wayneregardedhimcoolly.“Youknowwhat?Itdoestome.”

“Yawn,”Maxreplied.Itwastimetofindmoreinterestingconversation.

There was something about Max Shreck’s money-can-fix-anything attitude that brought out Bruce’s
most self-righteous instincts. He found the man extremely unpleasant. For a moment Bruce Wayne
thoughtitwasamistaketocomehere.

ThenhesawSelina.

She wasn’t dressed in costume either, unless her costume was Selina Kyle. Heck, with a face and

figurelikethat,whyshouldshewanttohideit?

Bruce quickly crossed the dance floor in her direction. She was talking to Chip Shreck, who was

dressedlikesomesoldierfromancientRome.Or,rather,Chipwastalkingtoher.

“Selina,”Chipsaidinwhatalmostsoundedlikeawe.“Ms.Kyle.MayIhavethis—”

Brucesteppedin,andSelinalookedathimasifChipShreckdidn’tevenexist.

Hesmiledather.Shesmiledback.Thebandstartedtoplaysomethingslow.Somehow,theywerein

eachother’sarmsanddancing.

“Sorryaboutyesterday,”hesaidquickly.“Somebigdealcametogether—”No,thatwasn’twhathe’d

told Alfred to say. “—uh, no, fell through, and—” Or was that what he told the butler to say? Bruce
couldn’tremember.

Selinarepliedbeforehecouldgetintofurthertrouble.“It’sokay.”Sheshrugged.“Ihadtogohome.

Feedmycat.”

Brucecouldn’tbelieveit.Helookedintohereyes.“Nohardfeelings?”

Shepressedclosetohim.Shelookedupandsmiled.

“Actually—semihard,I’dsay.”

Oh.Brucetookastepaway,suddenlyembarrassed.Ifonlyhedidn’tfindSelinaKylesoattractive.

Buthedid.

Selinadidanamazinglyslowpirouettebeforehim,gracefulandsexyatthesametime.

“There’sabig,comfy,CaliforniakingoverinBedding,”shesuggested.“Whatsaywe—”

“Youmean,”Bruceaskedwithacertainirony,“takeoffourcostumes?”

Selina’sansweringlaughsoundedmoresadthanhappy.“IguessI’msickofwearingmasks.”

“Samehere,”heagreed.“Sowhydidyoucometonight?”

Sheshookherhead.“Youfirst.”

Hedrewhercloseagain.“Toseeyou.”

Shedidn’treplyforalongmoment.Whenshedid,heheardthatsamesadnessinhervoice.

“That’slovely,andIreallywishIcouldsaythesame,but—IcameforMax.”

Brucealmoststoppeddancing.MaxShreck?Wastheresomethinggoingoninfrontofhimthathe

hadn’tevenseen?Anofficeflirtation,ormaybeevenromance?

“Youdon’tmean—youandMax?”heaskedtentatively.

ThistimeSelina’slaughlethimknowhecouldn’tbefurtherfromthetruth.Sheshookherhead.

“ThisandMax,”sheexplained.

Shereachedintoherpurseandpulledoutaderringer.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX

rucepushedthederringerbackinherbagandcontinuedtodance.Selinawassurprisedshehadeven

shownittohim.Shehadmeanttokeephergunasecretfromeveryone.Butthenshehadtoldhimabout
it,straightout.TherewassomethingaboutMr.BruceWayne,somethingmysterious,butsomethingthat
madeherwanttotrusthimatthesametime.

Shelookedatthesurpriseonhisface,anddecidedtotalkbeforehedid.

“Now,”shebegan,“don’tgivemeakilling-Max-won’t-solve-anythingspeech,becauseitwill.Aren’t

you tired of this sanctimonious robber baron always coming out on top? When he should be six feet
under?”

Bruceshookhisheadruefully.“Hey,look,I’msureyouhaveplentyofreasonstohateyourboss,but

—”Hethrewhishandsintheair,asifhedidn’tknowtheanswereither.“Jesus,Selina,you’renotthe
judgeorthejury.Imean,justwhodoyouthinkyouare?”

Shelooked back athim thoughtfully, anda little sadly. Beforethe Ice Princesshad died, she could

have told him. She had so much anger against so many things; and that anger had come out as
Catwoman.Butnow?

“Idon’tknowanymore,Bruce,”shesaid,andshecouldhearherowndespair.

Still they danced, swirling around the floor to that slow, sad song. She looked overhead and saw

mistletoe.SheleanedforwardandgaveBruceagentlekissthatsomehowfeltsadaswell.

“Akissunderthemistletoe,”shesaid,repeatinganother’swords.“Mistletoecanbedeadly,ifyoueat

it—”

Brucelookedather,andtoldherotherwordssheknew.

“Butakisscanbeevendeadlier,ifyoumean—it.”

Hestumbledoverthelastword,asifhehadguessedthesamethingshehad.

Theybothspokeatonce.

“You’reher?”hesaidatthesametimeassheasked“You’rehim?”

Theywere.Theybothknewitintheinstanttheyspoke.

HewasBatman?

AndshewasCatwoman.Butwhowouldbelieveit?

Besidesthetwoofthem.

Bruceverygentlyundidthecuffofherblouse,andpulledbackhersleeve.Hishandonherskinwas

almostacaressashefeltherupperarm.

“TheburnIgaveyou,”hesaid.Shecouldhearregretinhisvoice.

Butsheneededproofaswell,sherealized,assheundidthebottombuttonofhisshirtandfeltalong

hisstomachmuscles.Therewastherowofscabs.

“The puncture wounds I gave you,” she replied. She sighed. This was all too much for her. “Oh,

God,”shewhispered,afraidtosaywhatcamenext.“Doesthismeanwehavetostartfightingnow?”

Bruce’sonlyanswerwastopullhercloser.Shehuggedhimtight.Shewasscared.Sheimaginedthey

bothwere.

“Whatdowedo?”sheaskedafteramoment.

“Idon’tknow,”Brucereplied.“Untilwefigureitout,let’s—let’skeepdancing.”

Forthemoment,Selinarealized,thatwasfinewithher.

Nowthiswasreallymorelikeit!

ThePenguincackledasthedustanddancerssettledaroundthem.Nothinglikeanicelittleexplosion

toshakethemup.Well,tonight,ThePenguinwouldmakethempay!

Bitsofthefloorsailedbacktoearth.

Peoplescreamed.

Piecesofceilingraineddownaroundthem.

Peoplefainted.

Partsofotherthingsfelldown,too.Someofthesehadoncebeencostumes;orwhathadbeeninside

thecostumes.

Peopleran.

ThePenguinmadeasmallbowfromwithinhisduckmobile.“Youdidn’tinviteme,soIcrashed.”

Thefourpenguinshe’dbroughtalongsquawkedapproval.

His Honor the Mayor stepped forward. The Penguin had to admit, he was a snappy dresser. Of

course,ThePenguinalwayswasasuckerforatoga.

“Whatdoyouwant,Penguin?”HisHonordemanded.

The Penguin pushed him out of the way. He had no more time for mayors. He had much more

importantthingstoannounce.Helookedoutattheassembledparty-goerstomakecertainhehadtheir
totalattention.

“Right now, my troops are fanning out across town, for your children!” He paused to allow the

audience to gasp. “Yes, for your firstborn sons. The ones you left defenseless, at home, so you could
dressuplikejerks,getjuiced,anddance,badly!”

Heturnedtoacertainolderfirstbornkid.

“I’vepersonallycomeforGotham’sfavoriteson—Mr.ChipShreck!”

Evenmorepeoplegasped.Acoupleevenscreamed.

Ah,violence,threats,murder.WhydidThePenguineverleavethosethingshewassogoodat?

Well, all that was sewage under the bridge. Because with dear Chip, and hundreds of other Chips

fromallovertown,ThePenguinwasgettingbackintomurderinabigway.

Hey,thiswasevenbetterthanbeingmayor!

Thiswasterrible!

The two of them had gone down together when the floor exploded. Bruce had been underneath, to

cushiontheworstofherfall.Bythetimetheyhadbothregainedtheirfeet,ThePenguinhadmanagedto
takeChipShreckcaptive.

SelinaturnedawayfromThePenguinandhisgoon.

“Bruce,”shesaid.“Wehavetodosomething!”

ButBrucewasgone.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

axstaredinhorrorashissonwastakenhostage.

“You’recomingwithme,youGreatWhiteDope,”ThePenguindeclaredwithperverseglee.“Todie,

waydowninthesewer.”

Maxalmoststoppedbreathing.Forthefirsttimethathecouldremember,hewastrulyfrightened.

“Not Chip!” he called out, surprised how strong his voice still sounded. “Please! Penguin—if you

haveoneiotaofhumanfeeling,you’lltakemeinstead.”

ThePenguinturnedtoMaxandsneered.

“Idon’t,”hebarked.“So,no.”

ButMaxknewhehadtosavehisson.HethrewhimselftowardThePenguin’shugeduck.

“I’mtheoneyouwant!”heinsisted.“Penguin,please!Askyourself!”Hepointedtohimself.“Isn’tit

Max Shreck who manipulated and betrayed you? Isn’t it Max, not Chip, whom you want to see
immersedtohiseyeballsinrawsewage?”

ThePenguinpausedtoconsiderMax’splea.

“Okay,youhaveapoint.Plusthehystericsaregettingonmynerves.”

“Let Knute Rockne live for now.” The thug removed his gun from Chip’s face. Cautiously, the

youngerShreckbackedaway.Helookedtohisfather,asifhewassurethatMaxhadaplan.

Max’sreliefatseeingChipfreedwassoonreplacedbydismayathavingthegunputtohisownhead.

Max looked at the birds around him. The penguins were not only wearing funny-looking helmets,

they were armed! And the way they were pointing those guns, they looked ready to shoot into the
crowd.

Thewholeworldwentgrayasfoursmokebombswentoffsimultaneously.

Whatwashedoing?Hewasn’ttheself-sacrificingsort.Well,hehadsacrificedhimselfforhisson.It

wasashock,butMaxrealizedhedidhaveashredofhumandecency.

Andthatdecencywouldbethedeathofhim.

“Dad!”heheardChipcallfromsomewhereinthecrowd.Buthehadnoreplyasthesmokeclosed

overhim.

AllMaxcoulddowascough.

AndnowthewonderfulPenguin’splantookshape.Hecouldseeitnow,allthetalentedmembersofthe
RedTriangleCircusGangtumblingtheirwaysintothehomesofGotham’sfirstbornsons.

Here’soneprettyscene,inapreciousbathroom,thechild’sown.Thewallsarecoveredwithsheep,

daisies, and the letters of the Alphabet; so cute it could make you sick. A toddler, a firstborn toddler,
stands there, making faces at himself in a mirror. He’s giggling. It’s the funniest thing that he’s ever
seen.

Butuh-oh.What’sthisbuthisnannie’svoice,comingsternlythroughthebathroomdoor.

“Billy,”shesays.“Ifyou’renotbrushing,I’lltellyourmama!”

He’sintroublenow.

Thetoddlerlooksbackinthemirror,andseesthathe’snotalone.

Hisvisitor,theKnifeLady,grabshimbeforehecanscream,herhandclampedfirmlyoverhismouth.

Andawaytheygo.

Soon,thistoddlerwillnevergetintotroubleagain.

Tootraumaticforyou?Allright,let’spostulateanothersmalldrama.Adarlinglittleboysitsatthe

windowsill,staringoutwithwonderatthenightsky.Butwhoshouldappearathiswindowbutahappy
clown?

Theboyclapshishandsindelight.“Finally,thetoothfairy!”And,nowthatthat’sallestablished,he

getsdowntobusiness.“WhatdoIget?”

Theclown,whocanseethatthedarlingboyhasindeedlostoneofhisupperfrontteeth,smileseven

morebroadlythanbefore.

“Why,therideofyourlife,”hesays.“Hey,c’mon,littleguy—”

Theclownreachesoutahandandthelittleboytakesit,ecstaticthatheisgoingonanadventure.No

needtotellhimthatitwillbehislast.

And look over there, in that plush nursery. The infant boy sleeps soundly in his expensive crib,

custom-built, no doubt, with the lumber from some endangered tree. But one of our acrobats vaults
through the window, then scoops up the child in one fluid motion. The child sleeps on as the acrobat
vaultsbackout.Analarmwails,didyousay?Perhapsso,butitistoolate,fartoolateforallofGotham
City.

Andsoitgoes.Houseafterhouseafterhouse.Firstbornsonafterfirstbornson.

Andsoon,thebigkaboom!AllofGotham’sfirstbornbrats,sunkenandstrangled.

ItwasenoughtomakeThePenguinbreathless.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT

axhadneverknownthiskindofmiserybefore.

The Penguin had put him in a cage, but that wasn’t bad enough. The cage was hung immediately

aboveapondfullofbrownandacridgoo.Maxhalfexpectedtochoketodeathonthefumes!Andit
wascolddownhere,too!Thathugeairconditionerwasturnedsohighthattherewasiceeverywhere;
and somehow the sparks from the generator next to it did nothing to warm the place back up. Max
didn’twanttoknowwhatwasinthisgootokeepitfromfreezing,buthehadthefeelingthattheliquid
couldruinhispants,perhapseveneatthemaway.

ThePenguin’smenhadgivenhimarattyblankettothrowoverhisshoulders,butallitdidwaskeep

hisshiverstoaminimum.He’ddieofexposureifThePenguindidn’tkillhimfirst.

But,then,hewasquitesureThePenguinwasgoingtokillhim.

ThePenguinprancedaboutbeforehim,alongblackumbrellaineitherhand.

“Ooh,”thebirdmanalmostsang,“thisisgonnabegood!”

HeturnedtoMax.“TocutdownawholecropofGotham’smostpromising,beforetheirprime—”He

pointedhisumbrellatowardaspotpastMax,andawholelakefullofsomeliquidevenmorevilethan
thatsurroundingthebusinessman.

“How do I lure them in, you ask?” The Penguin continued rhetorically. He popped open a red and

white umbrella. Max flinched backwards. But instead of bullets or knives, this bumbershoot
transformed itself into a charming miniature merry-go-round. The music was hauntingly familiar.
Maybeitwasalullabye.

The Penguin held the charming miniature above him, and waved for a pack of imaginary kids to

follow. “A little Pied Penguin action,” he explained. “And you get to watch them all sink in a deep
puddleofyourindustrialby-products.”HeturnedbacktoMax.“Thenyoujointhem.Tragicironyor
poeticjustice?Youtellme.”

ButMaxwastoocoldtocare.

Itwasacircustrainfromhell.

The odd collection of circus wagons wound its way through the early morning streets of Gotham

City.Theywerebrightwagons,paintedblueandredandyellow,cheerfulcircuscolors.

But each of these old and cheerful wagons was a cage, its sides filled with iron bars. And behind

thesebarswerechildren;fourorfivetoawagon.Allboys,allthefirstbornsonsofGotham,destinedto
beThePenguin’svictims.Orsoheplanned.

Occasionally, a baby’s cry would break through the near silence. Most of the boys seemed too

terrified to speak. Somebody called weakly for help. An acrobat leaned down and told him, “Shut up
andenjoythechoo-chooride.Oryou’llbesorry.”

Thelocomotivestopped,waitingforthenextdelivery.Atthewheel,theOrganGrinderimpatiently

plucked his monkey from his shoulder. He looked back at the collection of acrobats, jugglers, and
clownsaidinghiminhiswork.

“Wouldyouhurryuploadingthosekidsalready?”heyelled.Itlookedlikehewasgettingtiredofthis

wholetrip.

A shadow fell across his face, startling the driver out of his boredom. His monkey screamed. He

lookedupasBatmanyankedtheOrganGrinderfromhisseat.

He’dmakesurethethuggotalittleaction.Andafterhewasdonehere,hehadashortappointment

withsomeacrobats,jugglers,andclowns.

The Penguin had to get this just right. No use frightening the little darlings before they all drowned
horriblyinthetoxicooze.Hepirouettedwithhiscolorfulumbrella,readytoleadhisfirstbornvictimsin
amerrydance.

“Thisway,kiddies,”hesaidinhismostinvitingtones.“Jumprightin!”

Ofcourse,ifthekidsdisagreed,he’djustmachine-gunafewofthemtogetthemstarted.

He paused as he heard a shriek from the entryway to his lair. He stopped the music as he saw the

OrganGrinder’smonkeyscamperdownthestairstowardhim.Asmelly,noisycreature,themonkey,not
atallasregalasanemperorpenguin;butwhywasthemonkeyherewithouttheOrganGrinder?

“So,wherearethekids?”hedemandedofthebeast.“Don’ttellmetheystoppedatMcDonald’s?”

“Boss!”Theclownpointed.“He’sgotanote!”

Indeed, the filthy little creature did clutch a piece of paper in its fingers. The Penguin snatched it

awayanduncrumpledthepage.

“ ‘Dear Penguin,’ ” he read. “ ‘The children regret they are unable to attend. Have a disappointing

day.Batman.’”

What?

Nochildren?IttookThePenguinamomenttocometogripswiththis.Anditwouldtakehimmore

than a minute to control his anger. If he could just get that Bat in the sights of his umbrella. But no,
wherewasaherowhenyouwantedtokillhim?Nowheretobefound!

Well,ThePenguinwouldjusthavetokillsomethingelse.Heglareddownatthemonkey.Thebeast

lookedtipathim,hoppinganddancingacrosstheicyfloor.

“You’rethemessenger,”heremindedhimself,“itdoesn’tmakesensetoshootthemessenger.”

Hegrabbedhissecondumbrella,theoneloadedwithbullets,andturnedtopumptwentyroundsinto

theFatClown.

There.Thatfeltmuchbetter.

AndThePenguinwasn’tfinishedyet.Hehadmoreplans.Biggerplans.Deadlierplans.

But,thistime,he’dusesomebodyhecouldtrust.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE

hyhadn’thejustdonethisinthefirstplace?Afterall,he’dbeenplanningthiscampaignforyears,

designingthespecialheadgear,fittingthegunsandheavyweaponrysothattheycouldbeoperatedby
birds. But he’d gotten sidetracked by dreams of personal glory, or personalized revenge. But these
dreamshaddependedonoutsidefactors;peopleandeventsthatThePenguincouldnotcontrol.

He looked out at his troops, over a hundred strong. It had taken The Penguin and the remaining

membersoftheRedTriangleCircusGangclosetoawholedaytooutfitthemall,butithadbeenworth
it,forthey’dfinishedtheirworkjustbeforeChristmasEve.

And what next? The Penguin had thought about this speech long and hard, for it would lead to his

greatestmoment!

“Mypenguins,”hebegansolemnly.“Westandatagreatthreshold.It’sokaytobescared.Manyof

youwon’tbecomingback.”

He had to stop and wipe away a tear. Yes, this was his day of glory, or, as he liked to think of it,

OperationPenguinStorm.Itwasinevitable,heguessed,thatitwouldcometothis,especiallyafterhis
yearsofgruelingstudyledhimtodiscovertheexactpitchandfrequencythatwouldcausepenguinsto
followhiseverycommand.Thatwasoneadvantagetospendingyearsinthesewers—itgaveyouplenty
oftimeforresearch.Sure,histroopswouldbelittlemorethanzombiestoThePenguin’sradiosignals,
buthiscausewasjust.Nottomentionincrediblybloody.

ButThePenguinhadtocompletehisstirringaddress.“ThankstoBatman,”hecontinued,“thetime

hascometopunishallGod’schillun—first,second,thirdandfourth-born!”Helaughedgrandly.“Why
bebiased?Maleandfemale,hell—thesexesareequalwiththeirerogenouszonesblownskyhigh!”

Helookedovertothecontrolcenter.TherewasthePoodleLady,atthecontrols,beneaththebanksof

monitorsscavengedfromboththeoldArcticWorldpavilionsandnumerousdiversesources,relaying
those fine video signals, from cameras liberated from some of the finer automatic tellers and
conveniencestoresinallofGotham.Andthosemonitorsshowedeverycornerofthesleepingcity.

Butifthecitywassleepingnow,soonitwouldbedead.

“Forward,march!”ThePenguindeclared.“TheliberationofGothamhasbegun!”

ThewholepenguinarmyswiveledinunisonasthePoodleLadytwistedtheappropriateknobatthe

controls.She flipped aswitch, and thepenguins started to marchin step towardthe large sewer pipe,
andthecitybeyond.

Penguinhadtowipeawayanothertear.

“The Grinch just stole Christmas,” he announced to those few, pitiful humans who remained. “I’m

gonnakillit,barbecueit,chopitup,andchewitsbones!”

Yes,ThePenguinthought,smackinghislips.

Purechewingsatisfaction.

The Batmobile might be down, but there was more than one way to patrol Gotham City. Especially
whenyourpreywasacreaturelikeThePenguin.

Batman drove the Batskiboat down Gotham River and into the main conduit of the sewers. This

wouldbethefirstrealtestofhisnewvehicle,asleek,compactblackcraftdesignedalongthesamelines
astheBatmobile,acombinationofspeedboatandjet-ski.

Thesewersweredarkandvast,andchangesovertheyearshadmadeitvirtuallyimpossibletomap

them from city records. The Penguin might have been able to hide down here for years. But now
Batmanknewwheretolook.

Alfredhadpickedupasignal,similartotheoneThePenguinhadusedontheBatmobile.Itseemed

that the birdman was again trying his tricks with remote control. But Batman would turn those tricks
around,andThePenguin’sfinalfatewouldbeanythingbutremote.

Batmanlookeddownatasmallscreenbeforehim.Theglowingdotwasgettingcloser.Hepickedup

thephonethatconnectedhimwiththeBatcave.

“I’mhominginonthesignal’sorigin,”heannounced.

“Readywhenyouare,”Alfredreplied.Thebutlerwasonceagaininchargeofthecomputers.

The glowing dot reached the center of the screen and began to flash with twice the intensity. The

Penguin’scontrolcenterwasjustahead.

“Gotthecoordinates,”Batmanadded.“They’re—”

Heturnedhisboataroundacornerinthesewerpipe.There,intheglowofhisheadlight,werehalfa

dozenpenguins.

Penguins?AsBatmanscannedthegroup,henoticedthatallthebirdswerestrangelyoutfittedaswell,

allwearingoddhelmetsandcarryingwhatlookedlikeminiaturebazookas.

ThiswaswhatThePenguincontrolled.Thebirdsraisedtheirweaponsattheapproachingboat.Itwas

timeforsomeevasiveaction.

He gunned the jet motor as he turned the boat to follow the curve of the sewer pipe. The boat

rocketedforward,risingfromthewaterandclimbingthecurveuntilBatmanhungupsidedownforan
instantfromthetopofthepipe.

Thepenguins’missilesexplodedharmlesslybelow.

Batmancontinuedhiscircumnavigationofthesewerpipe,bringingthecraftbackintothewateron

thefarsideofhisadversaries.Inaninstant,thepenguinswereoutoffiringrange;inanotherinstant,
theywereoutofsight.

“AsIwassaying—”Batmancontinued.

Hequicklygavethebutlerthepropercoordinates,alongwithafewfinalinstructions.

NowtheycouldputThePenguinawayforgood.

All my children, The Penguin thought, marching bravely down the streets of Gotham City, about to
blowthecitytoholyhell.They’dteachthesanctimoniouscitizensathingortwo—oratleastthosewho

wereleftalive.

He stared up at the monitors, and saw all but one of his units already in place. The last group had

delayed by some small disturbance in the sewer tunnels, but even they were climbing from their
designatedmanholetotakeuptheirpositionoutsideGothamPlaza.

ThePoodleLadylookedupatthebigclock.Everythingwasrightonschedule!

“Ten,”thePoodleLadybeganhercountdown,“nine—”

Penguincouldbarelycontainhisenthusiasm.“TheChristmasEveofDestruction!”hechortled.This

wouldletGothamknowhowhereallyfeltabouttheholidays!

“Eight,”hisassistantcontinued.“Seven.”

ThePenguincouldn’thelpit!Hefeltlikesinging!

“Silentnight,violentnight,”hebegan.

“Allisshrill,”thePoodleLadychimedin,“allisblight!”

The Penguins were in position. Larry instructed them to angle their bazookas for maximum

destructionofthestoresandthelast-minuteshoppers.

Thistime,ThePenguinwasgoingtogiveGothamthebiggestChristmaslightofall!

CHAPTERFORTY

lfredsatattheconsole,readyforhisemployer’sinstructions.

“Twenty-eightdegreeswest,”Batmanrepeated,double-checkingthecoordinates.“Shallwe?”

Alfredtypedtheappropriatecommandintotheconsolebeforehim.

FREQUENCYJAMMED

,themonitorreplied.

The Penguin couldn’t take his eyes off the video screens. This was the kind of program that really
suckedyouin.Onefinalcommand,andGothamCitywouldbecomeGötterdämmerung!

“Ah, Gotham,” he mused gleefully. “You wouldn’t put me on a pedestal, so I’m laying you on a

slab!”

ThePoodleLadycoughed.Shethrewaswitch,thenasecondandathird.Sheseemedtobehavinga

littletrouble.

“Well, um, funny thing” she remarked in a very tentative tone, “your penguins—they’re not

responding to your launch command. In fact”—she flinched before she continued—“they’re kind of
turnedaroundnow—likesomeonejammedoursignal—”

ThePenguinstaredather.Jammed?“Butwhocouldhave—”Hepausedashethoughtoftheobvious

answer.“No,don’tsayit.”

ThePoodleLadynoddedrapidly,hereyesonThePenguin’sdeadlyumbrella.

“Mylipsaresealed,”sheagreed.

Waitamoment.Thatmomentarydistraction,downinthesewers.Coulditbe?ThePenguinmoved

forwardtotheconsoles,punchingbuttons.Notinthatpipe,no.

There!

Hepunchedanotherquicksuccessionofcontrols,andeveryscreeninfrontofhimshowedit.Some

kindofboat!

“I’mstarting,”ThePenguinremarkedverysoftly,“juststarting,tolosemytemper,now.”

HegrabbedafreshumbrellaandranfortheDuckvehicle.

Maxcouldn’tbelieveit.

Hehadspenthoursdownhere,maybeevendays,hanginginthecage,dozingfromtimetotimewith

his arms around the bars. He had thought it was hopeless, only a matter of time before he was killed
alongwithanynumberofothers.

Butinstead,hehadseennotonebuttwoofThePenguin’smasterplansbrilliantlyfoiled.AndThe

Penguin, so sure of himself before, seemed to have forgotten everything, except revenge. And that
everythingincludedMax.

Maxhadtorousehimselffromhisstupor.Maybe,withThePenguingone,therewassomewayMax

couldgetoutofhereaswell.

ThePenguinjumpedintohisstrangeDuckvehicle,onlyafewfeetawayfromMax’scage.

ThePenguinsteeredhiscontraptionoutofthesewerandupthestairs!

ButMaxdidn’thaveanytimetoworryaboutwhatmadethatduckmove.ThePenguinwasgone,and

thekey—andfreedom—werewithineasyreach.

Max bent down and grabbed the key from the Organ Grinder’s monkey and quickly unlocked

himself.

Hehadtogetoutofhere,backtothesurface,beforeThePenguinhadanythoughtsaboutreturning.

Hetookasteptowardthestairs,andfeltsomethingwraparoundhisotherleg.

Helookeddown.

Itwasaveryfancywhip—acat-o’-nine-tails.

HegrabbedthefallenFatClown’sgunashefellintothewater.

BatmanhadalmostreachedThePenguin’slair.

Butsomethingwasmovingupahead.Hecouldseeanewbliponhisscreen,athermalimageofwhat

layahead.Itwasn’taboatexactly.Thevehicleaheadappearedtobeshapedlikealargerubberduck,
anditwasheadedforthesurface.

Hisboatreachedaforkinthepipes.Batmanturnedsharply,enteringthesewermainthatangledup

towardthesurface.

WherePenguinsgo,Batscanfollow.

He had reached the top of Arctic World, the grand and glorious exhibition site of yesteryear, which,
moreimportanttoThePenguin,heldadoorthatledoutside,beyondthesewers,wherehemightgetlost
inthegreatmassofGothamCity.ThePenguinlaughedashesteeredtheDuckintothelakebeyondthe
exhibit.He’dstealawaytoplananotherday—

Hestoppedlaughingatthesoundofbreakingglass.Somethingwasplowingthroughthetopofthe

oldArcticWorld.

SomethinglikethatdamnedBatskiboat!

Itflewthroughtheair,straightforhim.Itwasgoingtolandontopofhim.

ThePenguinhadtogetoutofhere.

Iftherewasanytime.

Hiscrafthadstopped.Hisaimhadbeenperfect,crashingintoThePenguin’sescapevehicle.Butwhat
hadhappenedtoThePenguin?

Batmanpoppedopenthecockpitandclimbedout.Helookedbeneathhiscraftforsomesignofthe

bird-man,abitofsoiledcoat,perhaps,orapieceofanumbrella.

Hesawmovementfromthecornerofhiseye.

ThePenguinwasontopofhim!

Thebird-manwrappedhislegsaroundBatman’sneck,peckingathiscowl,stabbingwiththetipof

hisumbrella.Batmanstaggeredundertheweight.

“Ithinkyou’rejealous—”Penguindeclaredbetweenpecks,“thatI’magenuinefreak—andyouhave

towearamask!”

Batmanshiftedhisweight,tryingtothrowoffhisassailant.“Maybeyou’reright,”hereplied.

ThePenguinobliginglyjumpedaway.

“But in the end,” the bird-man remarked as he lifted his sleek, black weapon, “all that counts is,

‘Who’sholdingtheumbrella?’”

The Penguin pressed the umbrella handle, and a long blade sprang out from the other end,

transformingitintoasword.

It was time for Batman to pull out his own weapon. A small, black, palm-sized electronic device

featuringabutton.

The Penguin’s already small eyes narrowed. What was Batman up to? The bird-man circled the

Batmanwarily,keepinghisdistance.

ThePenguinpausedabruptly,lookingbeyondhisfoe.

“Mybabies—”hewhispered.

Batmanriskedalook,andsawawholearmyofpenguinswaddlingtowardtheArcticWorld.Outof

ThePenguin’scontrol,theyhadreturnedtotheplacetheyknew.

The Penguin yelled and lunged forward with his sword. Batman easily avoided the stab, but in his

surpriseletgoofhisownweapon.

ThePenguincackled,snatchingtheweaponfromtheground.HegrinnedatBatmanasheheldthe

buttonoutinhisfoe’sdirection,andpresseddownhard.

TwopanelsintheBatman’sboatfellaway,releasingacrowdofbats.Confusedbats,agitatedbats,

locked in an enclosed space for far too long. They flew right for The Penguin and the high-pitched
signalbuttonhestillheldinhishand.

“Ah, you brought your in-laws!” The Penguin remarked as he swatted at them with his umbrella.

“I’msure,onceyougettoknowthem—”

Butthebatswereclusteringaroundhimnowandthesignalthatcalledtothem.Thereweretoomany

ofthem.Hestaggeredbackward,ontothepathwaythatledtotheArcticWorldexhibit,runningnow,
tryingtoescapethecirclingmammals.

Hescreamedashecrashedthroughtheglassandfell,backintohislair.

CHAPTERFORTY-ONE

hebatswouldn’tleavehimalone!

He had smashed through the old observation window. The glass had cut him in a dozen places,

addingtohisexhaustion.Andthebatswereeverywhere,swooping,chattering.Theywereevenworse
thanmonkeys!

Helookedbelow,andsawthemoataroundtheoldPenguinislandcomingupfast.Hewasgoingto

hithard.Well,thebatscouldn’tfollowhimthere!

Hesplashedintothemoat,lettinghimselfsinkallthewaytothebottom.

BatmanlookeddownattheArcticWorldexhibitbelow.ThePenguinwasnowheretobeseen.Butthere
weretwoothersdownthere,straggling;MaxShreckand—Catwoman.He’dhavetotakecareofthatin
amoment.Butfirst,hehadtodealwithanarmyofheavilyarmedpenguins.

Hemovedquicklybacktohisboat,andusedhisphonetotellAlfredtostopjammingthesignals.

Alfredcomplied.

Thepenguins’helmetsclickedandhummed.Theyturned,liftingtheirbazookasaloft,aimednowfor

the rotting remains of the rest of the old exhibition—crumbling cages from an old zoo, weathered
concession stands with a bit of bright paint remaining here and there, benches and fences that had
collapsedlongago.

Another command came through, and the penguins fired together, a grand trajectory of missiles

arcinghighoverheadtofallintotheexhibitsbeyond.

Theexpositionexploded,fullofsoundandlightforonefinaltime.

She finally had Max Shreck where she wanted him. Alone, in this crumbling exhibit. The world was
explodingoutside,andtheheatseemedtobemeltingtheicearoundthem.Thewaterlevelwasrising,
makingtheislandthatsheandMaxsharedsmallerbytheminute.Therewasnowayforhimtoescape.

“Idon’tknowwhatyouwant,”hepleaded,doinghisbesttosmile,“butIknowIcangetitforyou

withaminimumoffuss.”

Hewaitedforhertosuggestsomething.Shedidn’t.

“Money?”hesuggestedforher.Shedidn’treact.

“Jewels?”washisnextsuggestion.Butshedidn’twantthateither.

“Averybigballofstring?”heaskedindesperation.

Well,shesupposedshemightaswelltellhim.

“Yourblood,Max.”

Hegrewevenpalerthanhehadbeenbefore.

“M-myblood?”hesputtered.“I—Igaveattheoffice.”

“Ahalfpint,”Catwomanpurred.“Iwantgallons.”Shecurledherwhiparoundhisneckwithaflick

ofherwrist.ItwastimeforMaxShrecktohavealittledatewiththatbighumminggenerator.

ButMaxdidn’twanttogo.“Let’smakeadeal,”hecontinuedfeverishlyassheliterallydraggedhim

along.“Otherthanmyblood,whatcanIoffer—”

“Sorry,Max.”Shethoughtofthattripoutthewindowduringthesnowstorm.Shecertainlyhopedhe

pictureditaswell.

“A die for a die,” she added, dragging him so that he might have reached out and touched the

wheezinggenerator.Themeltingiceseemedtohaveaffecteditaswell.Itwasdefinitelylaboringnow,
shootingoutawhole,steadystreamofsparks.

“Eitheryou’vecaughtacold,”Maxreplied,“oryou’replanningtokillme.”

Smart boy. All she needed to do was ground dear Max properly, and he should go up in sparks as

well.

Aropeappearednearby,droppingdownfromthedomeabove.AmomentlaterBatmandroppedinas

well.

Maxwhimperedandcrawledtowardhim.

“You’renotsavingonelife,”Maxcalledout,“you’resavingacityanditswayoflife!”

Batmandrop-kickedhimintothegenerator.

Maxyelpedashebouncedoff.Justasmallshockthistime.Ataste,Catwomanhoped,ofthingsto

come.

BatmanturnedtoMax.Sometimes,shehadtoadmit,shelikedhisstyle.

“First,”hesaidtothebusinessman,“you’regoingtoshutup.Thenyou’regoingtoturnyourselfin.”

What?Thiswaswhatshegotforgettinginvolvedwiththissortofgoody-goody!

“Don’tbenaïve!”shedemanded.“Thelawdoesn’tapplytopeoplelikehim.”Shepausedandlooked

Batmanintheeyes.“Orus.”

ButBatmanshookhishead.“Wrongonbothcounts.”

HereachedouttotakeMax.

No. Catwoman wouldn’t let that creep get away. She cartwheeled straight at Batman, delivering a

swiftkicktohisabdomen.Heflewbackwards,falling.

“Whyareyoudoingthis?”heaskedashepickedhimselfup.“Wecoulddrophimoffatthecityjail,

thengohometogether—”

Asifitcouldbeassimpleasthat!Couldn’theunderstand?

“I’mnotahousecat,”shebeganpleadingly.

Batmanstartedtosmile.Shecouldn’tstandthat.

Shelashedoutwithherclaws,scratchingBatman’sface.Hepivotedawayfromhertalons,punching

outwithhisfisttopushherbeyondarm’sreach.

“Iwon’tdeclawyou,”Batmanexplained.“Justwatchwhereyousharpenthosethings.”

Catwomanstaredathim.Ifonlyshedidn’thavetodealwithMax.Butshedid,andBatmanstoodin

theway.

“Don’tyousee,”Batmanpleaded.“We’rethesame.Splitdownthemiddle.”Hereachedoutagloved

handtowardher.

“Justlikeinafairytale,”sheagreed.“Icouldlivewithyouinyourcastleforeverafter.”

Ifonly,shethought,therewasn’tthisotherthingIhavetodofirst.

Sheleanedforward.Shelongedforthesweetnessofhiskiss.

Shegavehimahead-buttinstead.

Hereeledbackward.

“Ijustcouldn’tlivewithmyself,”sheadmitted.

“Selina?” Max remarked as the light suddenly dawned upon him. “Selina Kyle? You’re fired!” He

looked over at the recovering Batman. “And Bruce—Bruce Wayne? Why are you dressed up as
Batman?”

Catwomanreplied.“HeisBatman,youmoron.”

ButMaxhadaguninhishand.

“Was,”hecorrected.

HeshotattherisingBatman,catchinghiminthesideoftheneck.BatmanfelltohiskneesasMax

turnedthegunonCatwoman.

Wheredidhegetthegun?SheshouldhavebeenwatchingMax,notarguingwithBruce.Corndog—

She stopped herself. That was Selina Kyle’s thinking. That was her past. For better or worse,

Catwomanwouldhavetofacethegun.

Shesaunteredtowardhim.

“Youkilledme,”shesaiddemurely,“Batmankilledme,ThePenguinkilledme.Threelivesdown.

Gotenoughbulletstofinishmeoff?”

“Onewaytofindout,”Maxreplied.Hesqueezedthetrigger.

Onebullethitherarm.Anotherrippedintoherthigh.

Shekeptonwalking.Shepulledoffherhood.

“Four,five,”sheremarked.“Stillalive.”

Shewasbleeding,butshecouldn’tfeelit.

Shepulledoutherstungun.Shewasgoingtofinishthisifitwasthelastthingshewouldeverdo.

Selinahadbeenshot.Twice.

Batmanpulledoffhisownmask,tryingtostanchthebloodonhiswoundedneck.Hetoldhimselfit

wasn’tmuchmorethanafleshwound.Nomatterhowbaditwas,hehadtostopMaxbeforehekilled
Selina.

Hetriedtogettohisfeet,buthewastoodizzy.

“Selina—”hemanaged,“pleasestop.”

Maxfiredagain,hittingherotherleg.Shekeptoncoming.Heshotonemoretime,blowingawaythe

barrelofherweapon.Sparksflewfromwhatremainedinherhand.

Shekeptonwalking,alittleshakiernow.

“Six,seven,”shemanaged,“allgoodgirlsgoto—”

Maxaimedatherchestandpulledthetrigger.Nomorebullets.

“Hmm,”Selinaremarkedcasually,“twolivesleft.ThinkI’llsaveonefornextChristmas.Meantime,

howaboutakiss,SantyClaus?”

Theonce-powerfulMaxShreckwasactivelywhimperingbynow.Hesteppedback,knockingagainst

thegenerator.

Selinaplacedthestunguninhermouthlikesomeelectronicpacifier,thengrabbedMax,hugginghim

close.

“Whatareyou—”Maxscreamed.

Sheleanedherheadforwardasiftokisshimasshedrovehertalonsintothegenerator’sopenfuse

box.Boththeirbodiesjumpedastheelectricityarcedthroughthem.

Brucemanagedtostandasthetwootherswerelostbeneathashowerofsparks.

CommissionerGordonlookedoutoverGothamPlaza.ItwasahappysceneforChristmasEve,asall
the stolen children were matched up with their anxious parents, with the help of the police and some
mayoralaides.And,ofcourse,theservicesofBatman.

It had been a strange night. Only a few minutes before, reports had come through about groups of

penguinswanderingaroundsportingstrangehelmetsandcarryingweapons.Butthepatrolcarshadn’t
beenabletofindathing.Probablysomebody’sideaofajoke.ItwasamazingwhatChristmasbrought
outinsomepeople.

The lights dimmed all around them. Were they going to have a blackout? For some reason, the

Batsignalblinkedtolifeintheskyforaninstant,thenwasgone.

Thelightscameback,andthistime,theChristmastreelightscameonaswell.Parentsandchildren

cheered.

Gordonfrowned.TheyhadalmostlostpowerinallofGothamCity.

CouldMaxShreckhavebeenrightabouthiscrazypowerplantscheme?

GordonwouldbegladwhenthisChristmasEvewasover.

Bruceheardahighscreamofjoycomefrombeneaththesparks.Thecrysoundedlikeacat.

Hestumbledforward.Hesawabodyonthefloor.

“Se-li-naKyle,”hecalled.Therewasnoanswer.

He moved forward, through the rising mist that formed when the sparks hit the surrounding mist.

Therewasonlyonebodyhere,andthatbelongedtoMaxShreck.Hewasquitedead.

Hetookastepaway.Thegeneratorhadstopped.Somehow,thelightswerestillworking,buttheair-

conditioningwasgone.Itwasgettinghotterinherebytheminute.

Heturnedasheheardavoicebehindhim.

“GottacranktheA.C.Stuffyinhere.”

ItwasThePenguin,risenfromthesewers.

CHAPTERFORTY-TWO

hePenguinlookedterrible.

Hissoiledclothingwassoakedandtorn,hisfaceandhandsbleeding.Hesupportedhimselfbyusing

twoumbrellasascrutches.Heseemedtobesweating,too,ashestruggledovertotheairconditioner,
notevenawarethatsomeoneelsewaspresent.

The generator explosion had ignited some of the upper parts of the display. Fiery rubble fell from

above. The Penguin dodged the flaming debris as he tossed away one umbrella to free a flipper. He
fiddledwiththedialsonasingedairconditioner.Itdidn’trespond;itwasasdeadasthegenerator.

HeturnedandsawBatman.

“Withoutthemask,”hecroaked,“you’redrop-deadhandsome.”Hegruntedasheraisedhisumbrella.

“Sodropdead.”

Hepressedthehandle.Thetopoftheumbrellatransformeditselfintoawhirlingmerry-go-round.

“Shit,”ThePenguinmuttered.“Pickedthecuteone.Heat’sgettin’tome.”

Hesearchedthefloorfortheotherumbrella,theonewiththebullets.Itwasn’tthere.Helookedback

upatBatman.

Andsawthathisadversaryheldtheumbrellainoneglovedhand.

ThePenguintookastepaway.“Hey.You—wouldn’tblowawayanendangeredbird—”

Batmanraisedtheumbrella.HeaimedstraightbetweenthePenguin’seyes.

Thebirdmantuggedathiscollar.Hisfacewasturningaveryunpleasantshadeofred.

Heturned,andstartedwaddlingaway,hisbreathingheavy.

“Youwouldn’tshootmeintheback,”hecalledoverhisshoulder,“wouldyou?”

BatmanfollowedThePenguinwiththestill-raisedumbrella,readytofire.

Thebirdmanstumbled,butstartedforwardagain,towardthelastfewvestigesoficeattheedgeof

themoat.

“I’moverheated,isall—”hegasped.“I’llmurderyoumomentarily—”

Hetuggedathiscollar,pullingitopen.

“Butfirst—acooldrink—”

Hetookafinalstep,thenbelly-floppedonlyafewinchesfromthelastglisteningchunkoficeatthe

water’sedge.

“—oficewater—”hemanaged.

Hisflipperreachedforwardfortheice,justoutofreach.

Theflipperfell.

AndThePenguinwasstill.

Batman put down the deadly umbrella. He stopped and stared as four penguins, larger than their

fellows—emperorpenguins,hewouldguess—movedforwardfromtheshadows.Theysurroundedthe
fallenbirdman,and,withasinglenessofpurpose,reacheddownwiththeirbeaksandgrabbedholdof
ThePenguin.Allfourliftedtheirheads,raisingThePenguinlikepallbearersathisfuneral,thenturned
andborehimaway,backintodarkness.

Batmancouldn’ttellanyoneaboutthis.Theywouldneverbelievehim.

Hewasn’tevensureifhebelievedithimself.

AllthelightswereoninGothamCity.

TheChristmastreeblinkedmerrily,andtheBatsignalblinkedback.

Carolerssang.Childrenlaughed.ItwasalmostChristmas.

CommissionerGordonsighed,andlookedtothemayorandhisstaff.Hepointedattheflashingbat

embleminthesky.

“Thinkhe’lleverforgiveus?”

Themayorshrugged.“Probablynot.Buthe’llalwayshelpus.”

CommissionerGordonhopedso.Forthesakeofthemall,hehopedso.

EPILOGUE

lfredhadcomeforhim.

Batteredandwounded,BruceWaynesatinthebackoftheRolls-Royce.Hestaredoutthewindow

foramomentasthecarpassedthehappyfamiliesthatsurroundedthetreeinGothamPlaza.Butforall
hishurts,andalltheChristmasjoyaroundhim,hereallycouldn’tfeelanything.

“I—”hesaidafterawhile,“Ididn’tfindher.Maybe—”

“Yes,”Alfredreplied.“Maybe.”

Brucelookedathisbutler,andhisoldfriend.Heknew,really,thatAlfreddidn’tbelievethatSelina

hadsurvived;thathewasonlybeingkindtoagrievingboss.BrucehadknownAlfredtoolongtobe
fooled.Still,heappreciatedtheeffort.

Alfred frowned as revelers blocked the way ahead. He turned down an alley, attempting to take a

shortcutfromthecrowds.

“Well,”Alfredcontinued.“Comewhatmay.MerryChristmas,Mr.Wayne.”

“Right,” Bruce replied, trying somehow to return the butler’s good wishes. “Sure. And ‘Peace on

Earth,goodwilltowardsmen.’”

Whatwasthat?

Hethoughthehadheardaloud“meow.”

Heturnedtolookoutthebackwindow,justintimetoseeashadowdartfromthestreetintothealley.

He jumped from the still-moving car, and disappeared into the alley. He found the jet-black feline
hidingamidstthecans.“Why,MissKitty,”hethought,“whatareyoudoingoutsolate?”Hetuckedthe
catinhisarmsandreturnedtoAlfredandtheRolls.

Bruceshiveredasheclosedthecardoorbehindhim.“Goodwilltowardsmen,”hehadsaid?

“Andwomen,”headded.

Alfreddroveoninsilence.

ItislateonChristmasEve,ormaybeveryearlyChristmasmorning.

Highabovethebuildings,projectedagainsttheclouds,thesignalflashes,abrightyellowovalfilled

withthedarkshapeofabat.

Itfillsallthenightsky,andthenitisgone.

WelcometoGothamCity.

Document Outline

PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
EPILOGUE

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