Batman 2 - Batman Returns

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

  Or maybe, he thought but didn’t say aloud, she was some sort of spy for the other side. Maybe even a spy for Batman.

  She looked at him, nervous. He’d got under her fur with that last remark. Now what was he going to do with this Catwoman in his lair?

  Before he could come to any conclusions, she reached into the birdcage and grabbed his pet canary. The Penguin bristled. If anything happened to his bird—

  He grabbed one of the many umbrellas stacked by the side of the bed and pressed a button on the handle. A knife blade popped out of the top, a blade he used to pin Catwoman’s little kitty cat against the bed.

  He looked up at his adversary. The minute she swallowed the canary, her cat was history.

  Catwoman spit Jerry from her mouth. The canary, somewhat damp but very much alive, flew up into the rafters.

  Very well. A deal is a deal. The Penguin pulled his blade away from the kitty cat’s throat. Catwoman protectively scooped up the cat in her arms. They stared at each other for a long moment.

  What next? The Penguin thought. She freed one of her hands and leaned forward to gently stroke her claws against The Penguin’s cheek. Petting from a Catwoman? It was one response he decided he could deal with.

  “Look,” she said, nodding at a scar below her wrist, “Batman napalmed my arm. He knocked me off 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. The Penguin was big on anger.

  “Well,” he remarked slowly, “a plan is forming.” He rubbed his chin with one of his gloves. “A vicious one, involving the loss of innocent life.”

  “I want in,” Catwoman insisted. She shivered. “The thought of busting Batman makes me feel all—dirty. Maybe I’ll give myself a bath right here.”

  She slowly ran her tongue along her upper arm. The Penguin licked his lips.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal, puss,” he replied huskily.

  And with any luck, The Penguin had himself some action.

  The Penguin was on TV. These days, it seemed like The Penguin was always on TV.

  “I challenge the mayor,” The Penguin declared with a melodramatic swoop of his umbrella, “to relight the Christmas tree in Gotham Plaza tomorrow night!”

  Bruce Wayne looked up for an instant as Alfred placed his dinner before him.

  The Penguin droned on through his media forum. “He must prove that under his administration, we can carry on our proud traditions without any fear. Not that I have any faith in the mayor,” he squawked self-importantly, “but I pray, at least, the Batman will be there to preserve the peace.”

  “Sir,” Alfred remarked, disturbing his concentration. “Shall we change the channel to a program with some dignity and class? The Love Connection, perhaps?”

  Alfred was right. Bruce couldn’t become obsessed with this Penguin’s preening. But this crook had just offered a challenge to Batman, and Batman couldn’t help but accept. Bruce wondered exactly what The Penguin planned to do at the tree lighting. Whatever it was, Batman had to be ready for it.

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

  He looked one more time at The Penguin, talking away on the TV screen.

  “Subtle,” he remarked.

  As a flying mallet, he thought to himself.

  He reached for the remote, and turned The Penguin off.

  A rehearsal, he thought, for the real thing, when Batman turned The Penguin off forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It was almost Christmastime.

  Remarkably, they had managed to reopen some of the stores on the plaza, making quick repairs to the devastation of a couple days ago. When he had left here that night, Bruce would have thought this kind of recovery was impossible. Still, he guessed that nothing was stronger than the lure of Christmas cash.

  Bruce saw a boy, walking between his mother and father, as all three headed for the restored window of the toy store. The boy seemed so happy. And why shouldn’t he be? He had his parents. They all had each other at Christmastime.

  Bruce had to turn away.

  His mother screamed. His father tried to stop them. He heard the gunshots.

  Bruce opened his eyes. Christmas.

  Bruce could not think of a more depressing time of year.

  When he turned, he saw a woman looking at a store window; a woman whom he recognized. And a woman he would very much like to get to know better. He walked her way. Maybe he could cheer up after all.

  “Why are you doing this?” she said to her reflection. She didn’t appear to be happy herself. Maybe there was some way, Bruce thought, that he could cheer the both of them up.

  He tapped her on the shoulder.

  She jumped.

  “Selina,” he said softly as she turned to stare at him. “Hi. Didn’t mean to—”

  She placed one delicate hand on her heaving chest. Once she recognized Bruce, she seemed relieved to see him. Could that be a good sign?

  “Scare me?” she replied. “No, actually, I was just scaring myself.”

  “I don’t see how,” Bruce replied, doing his best to lighten the conversation. “Anyway, it’s a treat to find you out in the world, away from Ebenezer Shreck.”

  “Treat to be here,” she valiantly replied. She sighed as if she could not possibly mean it. She took a step away from the window.

  “What’s the story?” Bruce asked as he fell into step beside her. “Holiday blues?”

  But Selina pointed at the Plaza Newsstand as they walked on past, full of newspapers with blazing banner headlines about the night before:

  BATMAN BLOWS IT!

  IT’S A CAT-ASTROPHE

  MEE-OUCH!

  “The news these days,” she explained, “weird. People looking to superheroes for their peace of mind, and blaming their problems on supervillains—instead of themselves, or their spouses at least.”

  Yes, Bruce had to admit, those kind of headlines annoyed him, too. What kind of reflection were they on the realities of last night’s battle?

  “And it’s not even accurate,” he complained. “I mean, ‘Batman Blows It’? The guy probably prevented millions in property damage!”

  Selina nodded in agreement. “I heard on TV—‘Catwoman is thought to weigh one hundred and forty pounds!’ How do these hacks sleep at night?”

  Their further progress appeared to be blocked by the preparations for the upcoming ceremony. Police were putting up cordons to keep the public away from a large portion of the square in front of the tree. A pair of workmen hoisted a new banner above the plaza that announced the exact timing of the event:

  THE RELIGHTING OF THE TREE

  TONIGHT AT SEVEN

  Selina looked up at the banner, even more unhappy than before. “You’re not coming to that, are you? The ‘Relighting of the Tree’ thing?”

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead,” Bruce agreed. “No, it’s probably how I would be caught.” He sighed exasperatedly. “The mayor stupidly took Cobblepot’s bait—”

  “—and it’s going to be a hot time on the cold town tonight,” Selina said with a little laugh.

  Bruce looked over at her. This was the first time he’d heard her voice rise out of the doldrums.

  “You almost sound enthusiastic,” he mentioned.

  She looked back at Bruce and shrugged.

  “Oh, no, I detest violence but—” She paused, as if it was difficult for her to put her exact feelings into words. “Christmas complacency can be a downer, too.”

  It was Bruce’s turn to chuckle. “You’ve got a dark side, Selina. Hmm?”

  She looked at him with those piercing blue eyes. “No darker than yours, Bruce.”

  He certainly couldn’t deny that.

  “Well, I’m—braver at night,” he admitted, “if that’s what you mean.”

  “Y
eah?” She looked at him with a smile. “Me, too.”

  They started to walk alongside the yellow police line, passing the stage where the Ice Princess once again rehearsed for the important job of pressing the button that would light the tree.

  He turned back to Selina, his voice soft as he suggested, “Maybe we’ll watch it on TV.”

  “ ‘We’?” Now Selina turned to look at him. She actually smiled. “You and—”

  “Me,” he finished for her, realizing only then that he had invited this beautiful woman into his life. Wait a moment; there was something wrong with what he had just said.

  “No,” he corrected himself, “that would make it me and me.” He paused. Hadn’t they had this conversation before? “Is that what I said?”

  Selina laughed. “Yes and no,” she replied.

  They turned toward the curb. There was his Rolls-Royce, pulling up to the curb to whisk them away. Bruce was sometimes amazed that Alfred could be so good at timing this sort of thing.

  Maybe, Bruce thought, Batman could miss tonight’s festivities after all.

  He took Selina’s hand. She didn’t object. Together, they walked toward the waiting car.

  This evening would be everything he’d planned!

  The Penguin waddled into the tent that held the controls for tonight’s celebration, as well as the dressing room of that well-built Ice Princess. He could hear her talking to herself as he approached.

  “The tree lights up, I press the button,” she mused. “No, wait, I press the button first and the tree—

  “Who are you?” she demanded as he marched into her dressing room.

  “Talent scout,” The Penguin reassured her.

  Her frigid demeanor disappeared behind the most charming of smiles. Hey! A talent scout? He was her kind of people. “Come in!” she insisted. “You know, I don’t just light trees. I studied the Method. Well, it was by mail, but—”

  She stopped when she saw that The Penguin was accompanied by a poodle with an odd-looking box in his mouth.

  Now, The Penguin just had to use that little box. Nice doggie. The poodle growled. He had to yank it free.

  “What is that?” she asked prettily. “A camera or something?”

  The Penguin nodded most agreeably. No need for her to know it was the Batarang that they’d stolen from Batman. She’d find out about that soon enough.

  He jauntily punched a series of buttons. “Say ‘Cheese,’ ” he remarked.

  The wings sprouted out of the Batarang’s sides.

  She never knew what hit her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose—

  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 sitting very close together. Not only was there romantic music on the CD player, but the couch faced a roaring fire, and Alfred the butler—an actual butler!—had reappeared, silently—she wondered how butlers did that—to refill their eggnogs. Wow. Mr. Bruce Wayne, handsome, clever, and interested in her besides! Why couldn’t she have met him long ago—say, before Catwoman entered the picture?

  She smiled at Alfred. He smiled back and disappeared just as silently as he had arrived.

  She turned back to Bruce. “I’m sure he’s wonderful company and all, but—doesn’t the gold-plated bachelor bit get a little—stale?”

  Bruce smiled at that—imagine, a man who smiled at her attempts at humor—and replied, “Somewhat like the lonely-secretary syndrome, I’d suppose.”

  Secretary?

  “Executive assistant,” was her automatic response. But who was she kidding, especially working for somebody like Max Shreck?

  “Secretary,” she admitted.

  But she had other, more important questions to ask.

  “Girlfriend?” was first among them.

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

  “What went wrong?” she asked. “Hang on, I think I know.” After all, what always went wrong with all of her relationships? “You kept things from her.”

  But Bruce shook his head.

  “Nope, I told her everything.”

  Oh, Selina thought, now this was far more interesting.

  “And the truth frightened her?” she asked.

  Bruce put his eggnog down on the table in front of them and turned all his attention to her. My, she thought, a girl could get used to this.

  “Well—” he began hesitantly, “how can I put this. There were two truths”—he opened his two hands, 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 Vicki said.”

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

  “Ice skater or stewardess?” she guessed.

  “Photojournalist,” Bruce replied.

  “Sure,” Selina replied. Just like she was an executive assistant.

  She looked at Bruce and they both started to laugh.

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

  Bruce hesitated again. He was so sincere when he hesitated. “If I said yes, then you might think me a Norman Bates, or a Ted Bundy type”—he paused, and hesitantly leaned forward—“and then you might not let me kiss you.”

  It was about time. She didn’t wait for him to finish leaning. She decided to move forward and kiss him instead.

  The kiss lasted for a while. Who needed words, when he had this set of lips? Explanations came and went, but a good kiss was forever.

  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 least they’re committed.”

  He put his arms around her then.

  “Ah,” Bruce whispered. “Then you’ve come to the right lonely mansion.”

  They kissed again, and this one promised much more to come. She found her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, and then unbuttoning them, one after another. She started from the top, and worked her way down.

  His hand covered hers on the third button. He pushed her gently away. Was she going too fast? This sort of thing was always difficult to time. If only he wasn’t such a good kisser.

  Then his hand moved over and started to play with her buttons? Uh-oh. The male wanted to run the show? Well, maybe Selina would allow it—this time.

  But wait. If he took off her blouse how would she explain the burn on her arm? Maybe she had better wait herself.

  Reluctantly, she pushed his exploring hand away.

  Bruce seemed every bit as embarrassed as she did.

  “I, uh,” he sputtered, “I never fool around on the first date.”

  His hand brushed against his stomach, as if checking on something beneath the shirt.

  At least he was being chivalrous enough to give her an out. “Nor I, on the second,” she agreed. Still, she didn’t know how long she could hold out around somebody like him. How long would it take for that sort of burn to heal?

  Bruce looked at her. “What are you doing three dates from now?”

  Selina stood abruptly, crossing the room to the TV set. Don’t tempt me, she thought. Please tempt me.

  “Weren’t we going to watch the relighting of the tree?” she said instead. She pushed the on button on the TV.

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

  “We repeat,” an announcer said from where he stood in the midst of a surging and screaming crowd, “the Ice Princess has been
kidnapped! And it only gets worse—Commissioner Gordon—”

  The scene shifted to the police commissioner, looking pale and visibly shaken, as he stood before a tent elsewhere in Gotham Plaza.

  The announcer continued, “Can you confirm the reports we’re hearing of Batman’s suspected involvement in the abduction?”

  “The evidence is purely circumstantial,” Gordon replied with a frown. “We found this, stained with blood, in the missing girl’s dressing room.” He held up some kind of a box with wings. It sure looked like it belonged to Batman.

  She looked back at Bruce. The Penguin had set his plans in motion. And Catwoman had promised to be there. Instead, she was on the other side of town, and had almost let a man take control. That’s what she got for letting Selina do the thinking. But was there any way The Penguin would trust Catwoman now?

  Bruce looked upset as well. Probably had something to do with all this violence in the city. She wished her problems were that simple!

  He stood, and smiled almost apologetically.

  “Selina,” he said quickly, “I’m just going to check on those chestnuts Alfred was roasting.”

  There was no reason to be apologetic about that, was there? If anyone should be apologetic around here, it should be her, because she had to get out of here.

  Catwoman had an appointment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Alfred strode across the foyer, a bowl of roasted chestnuts in his hands. He heard Master Wayne’s footsteps before he saw him, allowing him to neatly sidestep his employer and thus avoid collision.

  “Sorry, Alfred,” Mr. Wayne gulped, trying hard to regain his breath. “I have to get to the Plaza. You heard The Penguin, he was practically begging me to show.”

  Alfred did find this most recent statement disappointing. “Which is why I hoped you’d snub him,” he remarked calmly.

  Bruce took a step away, already heading toward the entrance to his secret cave. “I’m afraid I can’t. There’s been a kidnapping. Tell Selina—that is, Ms. Kyle—that some business came up . . .” He hesitated, shaking his head. “No, tell her that some major deal fell through, she’ll feel sorry—” More head shakes as he looked up toward heaven, for inspiration perhaps, then down toward the Batcave. “—No, no, here’s what to do, just tell her—let her know that—not in a dumb ‘Be my girlfriend way,’ but—”