Batman 2 - Batman Returns

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

  Him? Max thought. Where could he run? Where could he hide? But good old Chip stepped in the way. That gave Max a moment more to plan his escape.

  “All this courage,” the clown remarked drolly. “Goose-bump city.”

  And with that, the Knife Lady whipped one of her blades straight at Chip, nicking his ear. Oh, God, Max thought, they were both in danger.

  “Son!” Max called out

  “Dad!” Chip called back. “Save yourself!”

  But Max had already leapt from the platform and was heading for the crowd at a dead run.

  Chip looked across the plaza and realized this mad scene was going to get wilder still.

  There, on the far side of the crowd, he saw the Batmobile.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alfred was trapped by the surging crowd, still mere feet from the safety of the Rolls. At the very minute that he had been about to reenter his car, that large box had burst open, sending the crowd into a panic and pushing him a dozen feet away from his goal.

  There the car sat, bulletproof, shatterproof, with a phone inside with which he might be able to call Master Bruce and summon help, and there was no way he could reach it. Everyone was screaming and pushing futilely one against the other, but the crowd seemed trapped by its very density, without direction.

  And the criminals only wanted to make it worse. A thug on a motorcycle plowed through the masses only a few feet in front of him while three stilt-walkers started kicking the crowd from behind. With all these miscreants in costume, Alfred thought, it was like some nightmare version of the circus.

  He heard the roar of engines, not motorcycles this time, but a deeper sound, and one that he believed he recognized.

  Alfred looked back to the plaza and smiled at last.

  The Batmobile had arrived.

  Blades shot from either side of the Batmobile, smashing through two different stilts in an instant. A pair of stilt-walkers fell to the ground face first.

  But they were not out of danger yet. Alfred saw a circus strongman, all rippling muscles beneath his tight-fitting costume, bearing down upon them. It looked as if the butler would have to rescue the little 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. The Batmobile turned in Alfred’s direction.

  Now.

  Alfred ducked as another Batdisc sailed over his head to connect with the Strongman’s cranium. The Tattooed Strongman fell, quite unconscious. Alfred stood again and smiled as the Batmobile wheeled past.

  That was very nicely done.

  Max couldn’t believe it. He had gotten away. It just proved, he guessed, what a pair of still-speedy legs 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, to catch his breath and decide on his next move. He darted down a side street, free at last of all but a few members of the screaming mob.

  Max’s steps slowed even more as he felt hot air coming up from a sewer grate below his feet. It felt oddly warm and reassuring compared to the winter chill around him, especially now that the sweat on his face and hands was exposed to the Gotham wind.

  Maybe he should stop here for a moment or two and reconnoiter, perhaps figure out exactly what was going on here. After all, he had just survived threats from criminals, a speedy chase, and a near capture.

  For the first time, Max wondered if there was some way he could turn all this to his advantage.

  Action always helped.

  He’d taken care of the worst of this band of thugs in the middle of Gotham Plaza. Now he had to mop up the trash on the outskirts. He turned the Batmobile toward three more of the criminals who seemed intent on destroying the surrounding stores.

  These three were dressed as clowns. Batman found that particularly appropriate. He angled the Batmobile slightly so that all three were directly in his path, then pressed the accelerator. The clowns turned and fired on him. The bullets bounced harmlessly off the car’s exoskeleton as the Batmobile sped toward its prey.

  One clown managed to jump free, but the other two bounced smartly off the hood. He’d come back for the third in a moment. Batman turned the wheel to follow another fellow who was breathing fire on the window displays of a toy store.

  Wait a moment. Both of those clowns had still managed to cling to the hood, and one was firing at his windshield. And that clown he missed was firing at him from behind. Sometimes, these felons simply didn’t know when they were beaten.

  Batman hit the brakes.

  The Batmobile stopped abruptly, launching both clowns forward into the Fire Breather. All three of them fell into the smashed window display.

  Batman had one clown to go.

  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 vehicle completely around so that the toy store was now to the Batmobile’s rear.

  Batman heard a noise behind him as he gunned the engine again. Somehow, the Fire Breather had regained his feet. He jumped from the window, ready to breathe his flame on the Batmobile.

  Batman floored the accelerator. The Fire Breather was caught in the exhaust. Batman checked the scene in his rearview mirror. This time, the Fire Breather went up in flame. All lit up, Batman thought, like a Christmas tree.

  Now what was that last clown up to?

  Maybe Batman could give him a hot time, too.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Selina supposed it was too late to give Max his speech. In fact, the way this crowd was moving, it seemed to be too late to do much of anything.

  Then she had this clown grab her. A guy actually dressed in a clown suit pulled her from the steps and stuck the muzzle of a gun against her neck.

  He muttered something about “Never taking me alive.”

  Somehow, Selina doubted he wanted to start a conversation. She heard something crack as the clown dragged her in front of him. Somehow, she managed to look down and saw that her brand-new heel had snapped off her brand-new fashion pump.

  That was it, Selina thought. Those heels cost her money.

  Now she was mad.

  “I probably shouldn’t bring this up,” she said pointedly to the terrifying Clown, “but this is a very serious pair of shoes you ruined.”

  The terrifying Clown stared at her in astonishment.

  “Couldn’t you have just been a prince,” she continued, “and broken my jaw? My body will heal, but that was the last pair left in my size!”

  “All these innocent bystanders and I had to pick you?” the terrifying Clown asked.

  Selina opened her mouth to respond.

  “Shut up!” the Clown hissed.

  Boy, Selina thought, somebody around here had really gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. This creep had his gun stuck in her face now. Maybe, she considered, she should be worried about more than her shoe.

  The Batmobile screeched to a halt in front of them. The door flew open and a man dressed all in black leapt out and headed straight for them. It was Batman.

  An acrobat somersaulted out of the crowd. These circus people were everywhere. He headed straight for the man in black, whose muscular costume also featured a very good-looking cowl and cape.

  Batman punched the acrobat’s lights out with one very well-placed fist.

  This got the terrifying Clown’s attention. He waved his gun at the Batman for an instant, then quickly brought the muzzle back to Selina.

  “Listen up, Mister Man-bat,” he said very loudly in Selina’s ear. “You take one step closer and I’ll—”

  Batman looked back and smiled.

  “Sure” was all he said.

  He whipped out some sort of gun from a holster on his hip and fired a spear toward the clown. The clown jerked his head away as the spear buried itself into the wall behind them.
r />   The terrifying Clown started to laugh. “Oh, nice shot, mister—”

  But Batman wasn’t through. There was a line connected to the spear, a line Batman tugged sharply. A piece of wall fell forward with the spear, right on the head of the terrifying Clown. The gunman staggered. Selina saw her chance.

  “You shouldn’t have left the other heel.” She drove the point of her remaining shoe into the terrifying Clown’s knee, making him lose his balance the rest of the way. Clown and gun went tumbling to the ground.

  Batman stepped forward and leaned over his fallen foe. A gloved hand reached down and brushed at a crimson triangle tattoo over the terrifying Clown’s left eye. Selina stared. Was that significant?

  The Batman, hero to millions, and pretty well built besides, was mere inches away from her. Come on, Selina thought. This is the chance of a lifetime. Say something!

  “Wow,” she began. “The Batman—or is it just ‘Batman’?”

  He didn’t reply. She tried to smile.

  “Your choice,” she added. “Of course.”

  Batman looked up, and for a moment their eyes met. He had very nice eyes. She thought she saw the slightest bit of a smile beneath his mask.

  “Gotta go,” he said.

  And he was gone, half a block away in a matter of seconds, off to talk with Commissioner Gordon. The crowd gathered around the two and started to cheer.

  That was it? Her big meeting with Batman? Not that she could blame him. It was no wonder he didn’t wait around, with her terrible attempts at conversation.

  “Well, that was—very brief,” she murmured. “Like most men in my life.” She chuckled caustically. “What men?”

  She looked down at the unconscious clown at her feet. “Well, there’s you but, let’s face it, you need therapy.”

  She knelt beside the clown and picked up his gun. She had never gotten a close look at the weapon when it was pressed into her neck. It wasn’t a regular gun at all. It had more of a futuristic look to it, like it shot out electricity or something.

  She pointed it at the clown. Whoops, maybe she pulled the trigger. The clown stiffened for a second, as if he’d been hit by a jolt from the gun. So she’d definitely pulled the trigger.

  “Electroshock therapy,” she reassured the still-unconscious body. “What a bargain. Now we both feel better.”

  Max heard the sound of cheers. Maybe all the carnage was over. Maybe he should go back and join the celebration.

  The sewer grate he was standing on opened up.

  Max fell before he could even utter a proper scream. And as he fell, he saw the sewer grate pop back into place overhead.

  He landed in something soft. But he didn’t stop moving. Something had grabbed him around the ankles. And that something was dragging him into the darkness.

  For the sake of form, Max screamed for real.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Thanks for saving the day, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon said in all sincerity. “Thanks for making the rest of us look like a bunch of dolts.” He laughed, a trace of envy in his voice, but he shook his head as he watched his men rounding up the wounded thugs. “I’m afraid the Red Triangle Circus Gang is back.”

  Batman surveyed the remains of the carnage around him. “We’ll see” was his only reply.

  Gordon wanted to ask exactly what Batman meant by that. But the Mayor showed up before the commissioner could say another word.

  “The Caped Crusader!” the Mayor bubbled. “We don’t deserve you!” He smiled as a news photographer snapped a picture. “They almost made off with our mover and shaker, Max Shreck. But—”

  His Honor stopped and frowned, looking back to the speaker’s platform and the decimated Christmas tree. In a lower voice, he added, “Where is that insufferable son of a bitch?”

  He looked back to Batman. But Batman was no longer there. Gordon couldn’t help but smile at His Honor’s consternation. Batman had no need to stand around and listen to self-important politicians.

  Gordon envied Batman more than ever.

  Selina threw open the door to her apartment.

  “Honey, I’m home!”

  She waited for the answering silence before finishing the joke.

  “Oh, I forgot. I’m not married.”

  It was an old joke, but it was her joke. She laughed dutifully as she looked around her studio digs: the pink wall-to-wall carpet that went so well with her off-white furniture, her fully stocked dollhouse, that quilt she’d get around to finishing someday, her substantial collection of stuffed animals, and that neon “HELLO THERE” sign that would greet her when there was no man to do the job. Plus, of course, she had a Christmas tree to cheer the place up even more. Now, if her job would only allow her enough time to enjoy this place. Oh, well. A working woman couldn’t have everything.

  She opened up the closet and hung up her long winter coat, realizing, as it bumped heavily against the wall, that the pocket still contained the stun gun she had taken from the clown. Oh, well, she thought again. She pulled the gun from the pocket and looked down at it. A woman also couldn’t have too much protection.

  An accusatory meow caused her to turn to the half-open window. There was her cat, returned from her nightly prowling in time to eat.

  “Miss Kitty!” Selina greeted her as she walked over to the kitchen counter. “Back from more sexual escapades you refuse to share.” She put the gun down and pulled a bowl from the cupboard, then opened the refrigerator door. “Not that I’d ever pry.”

  She frowned. She was out of cat food again. Ah, there was the milk. She poured some in the bowl and set it on the floor. “Drink your dinner.”

  Miss Kitty walked regally from the window, as if by simply having the good grace to return to the apartment, the milk was no less than her just reward. Selina collapsed back against the counter, totally exhausted. Sometimes she wished she could have the carefree life of a cat.

  She looked down at Miss Kitty, contentedly lapping at the milk. “What did you just purr?” She changed her voice, trying to make it sound more catlike. “ ‘How can anyone be so pathetic?’ ”

  Selina nodded in resignation as she resumed her normal tone. “Yes, to you I seem pathetic. But I’m a working girl. I’ve got to pay the rent. Maybe if you were chipping in, instead of stepping out—”

  She let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, and walked over to the phone machine, perched in the midst of pictures of Selina in happier, less hurried times: on a trampoline as a kid; her fifteenth birthday with her horse; that time she climbed the mountain during a college vacation. She used to have time to really get exercise. Now she was lucky if she could run for the subway.

  She pressed the play button on her answering machine, then turned and pulled down the old-fashioned Murphy bed from its niche in the wall.

  “Selina, dear,” the first message began. It was her mother’s voice, in her stern this-is-going-to-be-for-your-own-good voice. “It’s your mother, just calling to say hello—”

  “Yeah, right,” Selina murmured, anticipating what came next, “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 secretary when you—”

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

  She released the button as she heard the beep that signaled the beginning of the next message.

  “Selina, about that Christmas getaway we planned?” It was her boyfriend Paul, sounding even wimpier than usual. “I’ll be going alone.” He paused as if afraid to continue, then added in a rush, “Dr. Shaw says I need to be my own person now, and not an appendage—”

  “Some appendage,” Selina remarked ruefully as she fast forwarded again. “The party never stops on Selina Kyle’s phone answering machine.” She sighed. “I guess I should have let him win that last racquetball game.”
r />   Another beep, another message.

  “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, Elvis knew those moves, and he died fat. You must stop seeing yourself as a victi—”

  She fast forwarded one more time.

  “Hi, Selina.” An all-too-familiar voice this time. “This is yourself calling. To remind you, 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 tapered fingertips!”

  Oh, no! How could she have forgotten—well, she knew exactly how, what with the clown and all. But still! Selina lifted the stun gun from the counter and fired it at the answering machine, jolting it to silence.

  “The file!” she murmured. “You stupid corn dog! Corn dog! Deep-fried corn dog!”

  She went back to the closet to fetch her coat. So much for a good night’s sleep.

  She was slowly going crazy. Why not make it simple, she thought, and do it all at once?

  For some reason, Miss Kitty meowed good-bye.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Max opened his eyes. He was having trouble focusing. He hadn’t remembered going to sleep, in fact didn’t remember much at all after he had run away from a bunch of crazy circus performers.

  He definitely couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here, wherever he was.

  He turned his head. There, inches away, was a penguin staring back at him.

  A penguin?

  Max yelped.

  The penguin flapped its wings and yelped back.

  Max turned back to the chair beneath him and yelled all over again. He was dazed.

  And facing him, smiling at him, were all those circus crazies.

  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 around her arm and waist, and a ratty-looking lady with a ratty-looking poodle, not to mention all those clowns, acrobats, and stilt-walkers.