Alfred already knew precisely what to say.
“I will relay the message,” he reassured his employer.
“All right,” Bruce replied, “thanks.”
He ran down the hallway.
Alfred turned back toward the den to fulfill his duty.
And almost ran into Ms. Selina Kyle as she rushed into the foyer.
“Alfred!” she said brightly. “Hi! I—”
The butler decided he should dispense with Mr. Wayne’s apologies immediately.
“Ms. Kyle,” he began evenly. “Mr. Wayne has asked me to let you know that—”
“Mr. Wayne,” Selina replied, as if she still wasn’t quite used to the name. “Bruce.” She took a deep breath. “Yes—would you tell him for me that I’ve been going through a lot of changes and—” She shook her head. “No, don’t say that.” She frowned and then continued. “Just . . . this is not a rejection, my abruptly leaving. It’s . . . in fact, tell him that he makes me feel the way I hope I really am—no.”
She laughed helplessly, throwing up her hands. “If you can whip up a sonnet, something—” She shrugged and laughed. “A dirty limerick?”
Alfred nodded reassuringly. “One has just sprung to mind.”
Ms. Kyle laughed again and opened the front door.
Yes, Alfred thought, he liked this young woman. In fact, it appeared that she and Master Bruce were virtually made for each other.
He would have to frame the precise words to relate to his employer.
A butler’s work was never done.
It was too bad, really. They had come so close.
But Bruce didn’t want to have to explain those scars on his stomach. Not yet. Batman had gotten in the way of Bruce Wayne’s last relationship. And he supposed he would eventually have to let his alter ego into this relationship as well, but somehow he wanted a little romance before the complications set in.
Bruce quickly donned the suit.
And Batman jumped into the Batmobile and headed for downtown Gotham City.
She was so glad she had decided to drive herself to Wayne Manor.
When Bruce had ushered her into the car, he had asked if she wanted to come up to the house now, or wait until the evening. She had opted for the evening, and directions to the mansion, even though Bruce had volunteered Alfred’s chauffeuring services.
A woman, after all, needed her independence.
Now, though, she needed to be in Gotham Plaza. She dug down under the old magazines and diet cola cans to pull out her Catwoman costume.
Romance was nice, but she craved action.
The Batman guided the Batmobile into a deserted alley immediately behind the plaza.
At first glance it appeared that the police had managed to restore some order to the proceedings. Still, he needed to be here. He was sure the capture of the Ice Princess wasn’t The Penguin’s only plan, but part of some larger picture. And Batman wanted to be there when The Penguin pulled something new from his soiled sleeve.
He jumped from the car, pausing only long enough to activate the Batmobile’s security shields. Then he headed swiftly and silently toward the plaza, his dark costume blending with the shadows.
Fools! Let them try to establish order.
The only orders around here would come from The Penguin.
Still, they tried to set the klieg lights working, swinging back and forth as if nothing were wrong. And there was the mayor—soon to be the ex-mayor—pitifully attempting to restore order.
“People!” he yelled into his microphone. “Fellow citizens. There’s no need for panic. This can still be a party that Gotham will remember for—”
Whatever he wanted to say next was lost under a shriek of feedback. Now how could something like that happen? Surely, it had nothing to do with The Penguin twisting the knobs on the controls to the speaker system?
And while The Penguin was busy helping the mayor, his helpers were busy making adjustments of their own.
Even from his hiding place within the tent, he could tell what they were doing.
The Poodle Lady led the way, her mangy dog at her side. And following her were all their circus chums. But none of them came to the party empty-handed, for each of them carried a toolbox.
And the name of the party was the Batmobile.
One of the Red Triangle Circus Gang climbed atop the security shield, and with the aid of a primitive but still quite effective hand-held laser, disabled the whole system. Whoosh, and the shield was gone. The rest of the gang rushed up at that, each member equipped with a very special helmet containing a very detailed drawing that outlined their own very specific task.
And once all those tasks were put together, the Red Triangle Circus Gang would take the Batmobile apart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Batman watched the events in Gotham Plaza from the shadows.
The mayor was valiantly attempting to calm the crowd, but half his speech was lost in feedback.
“—incess will be safely—” managed to get through the noise. “—atman will be brought in for question—”
But Batman had no more time for the mayor’s words, for he saw a light on in a window across from him, and in that window was the bound and gagged Ice Princess.
There was no time for explanations to the mayor. Not yet. He shot out a grapple and line to the ledge above. In a short time, his actions would speak far louder than his words.
The Penguin played the control knobs like they were a grand piano. Let in a few words here, a few words there, just enough to give the mayor hope he could be heard while totally confusing his audience.
His minions had by now totally dismantled the Batmobile. Ah, but that was only the beginning of the fun. For now they added a clamp here, twisted a wire there, so that the controls no longer acted in quite 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 managed by someone who was very good at twisting knobs.
Batman crashed through the window, into the room that held the Ice Princess. The place was bare except for the woman and the chair that they had tied her to. He quickly crossed the room and pulled the gag from her mouth. She started to thank him as he examined the ropes that held her.
“We’ve got to hurry,” he explained. “I was set up to look like I did this.”
“No sweat,” the Ice Princess replied brightly. “I’ll just tell the police I was kidnapped by an ugly birdman with fish breath.”
Another woman’s voice cut in: “Did someone say ‘fish’?”
Catwoman dropped down from somewhere overhead.
“Yummy,” she remarked. “I haven’t been fed all day.”
She leapt forward, kicking out at Batman. He stepped aside, grabbing her heel and allowing the momentum to flip her all the way over.
“Eat floor,” he replied. “It’s high fiber.”
But Catwoman sprang up easily. “Hey, stud,” she pouted. “I thought we had something together.”
“We do,” Batman replied as he sprang forward, knocking his head against hers. Of course, his head was reinforced with body armor.
She reeled but it was only an instant before she shook it off. He found her more impressive with every encounter. She back-flipped away from him, straight for the Ice Princess. A single swipe of her talons cut the ropes that held the other woman.
“Gotta go,” Catwoman called. “Girl talk! Guys keep out!” She threw the chair at Batman as she pulled the squealing princess through a doorway. The door slammed shut behind them.
Batman swatted the chair out of the way and crossed the room in three quick strides. The door was locked, dead-bolted.
He took a step back, then kicked it open with his boot.
They weren’t in the hallway.
He heard the princess scream. The sound came from an open window on the far side of the hall. Catwoman had taken the princess up the
fire escape.
Batman took the steps up as fast as he could. He saw the two women disappear before he had climbed halfway to the roof.
He couldn’t stop now. He tried to control his breathing as he took the metal stairs two and three at a time. He had to have enough left to fight whatever he found on the roof.
It was quiet above. No more sounds of struggle. Batman leapt onto the rooftop, ready to dodge or to fight.
Catwoman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the Ice Princess shivered alone in her skimpy costume at the far edge of the roof.
“She let me go,” the princess explained. “I think because I reasoned with her, girl to girl.”
This was too easy. Batman was afraid this wasn’t over. He took his first tentative steps toward the princess. “Okay,” he said levelly, “just slowly move toward me, away from the edge.”
The Ice Princess tried to smile. She took her first tentative step forward.
“Look out!” The Penguin stepped out from behind an old chimney. “Lawn dart!”
He threw an umbrella straight at the Ice Princess. Its sharp point embedded itself in the rooftop, inches away from the princess’s toes. She took a step away.
“No,” Batman called. “Don’t panic!”
The umbrella dropped open, releasing a cloud of tiny flying bats. The Ice Princess screamed, trying somehow to get away from the flock of flying mammals.
Batman ran toward her. But she was too close to the edge. The klieg light shone up from down below, highlighting her silhouette as she lost her balance on the building’s edge.
He leapt out to grab her. But she was gone. She fell into the klieg light’s beam, down to her death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Commissioner Gordon despaired at returning order to the streets.
He had a hundred uniformed policemen stationed around the plaza, and twenty more watched the scene from the upper stories of surrounding buildings. He knew The Penguin or some of his gang were around here somewhere. And as soon as they showed themselves, Gordon swore that this time the police would be ready for them.
A voice barked static on his remote walkie-talkie.
“Gordon here,” he replied as he pressed the talk button. The Sergeant filled him in from Precinct 12. Someone had tipped off the department; the Ice Princess was being held on the top of a building on the far side of the plaza.
Gordon issued instructions for a number of units to meet him at the scene as he hurried through the crowd. Maybe this was the break he had been hoping for.
Somebody shouted and pointed toward the roofs above. There, silhouetted in the sweeping klieg light, was Batman, racing across the rooftop with arms outstretched. A second light picked up the form of the missing Ice Princess, on the very edge of the building. The lights swept away for an instant, then back again, as Batman reached the young woman, and the young woman fell from the rooftop!
“Batman?” someone yelled in the crowd. “Batman pushed the princess!”
The commissioner frowned. The way the sweeping lights had left the scene, there was no way to tell exactly what had happened. It was much more likely that Batman was trying to save her. But there was no way you could tell that to an angry crowd.
He called to the cops around him. He had to get up on that rooftop, and he needed reinforcements.
The Penguin’s plans were perfect.
The Ice Princess fell, screaming. No one in the crowd made a sound as she plummeted toward the platform. She hit with a sickening crunch.
And The Penguin heard new sounds coming from the Christmas tree.
The button that controlled the lighting of the tree was on the platform. Her body must have hit it at the end of her fall.
So she had been able to do her job after all. Too bad it was the last job she would ever do.
And when her dying body hit the button, did it simply light the tree? Oh, no, that would have been much too simple. Instead of lights, The Penguin had filled the tree with cages full of bats, all released at the press of that button. Very suggestive, if The Penguin did say so himself. The crowd screamed and panicked as the bats swooped among them.
“Rats with wings,” The Penguin remarked chipperly, “do your things—”
He looked across the roof. Oh, yes, Batman was still here. Well, that would be taken care of shortly.
Batman headed for him in a way that suggested he intended to do great bodily harm.
Penguin heard the commotion on the stairs. He stepped back so he would be behind the fire door when the police arrived.
They took the elevators to the top floor, then headed up the stairs to the roof. There were a dozen cops 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. Gordon followed as quickly as his weight and age would allow.
He reached the roof to see all guns pointed at the Batman, outlined by the klieg lights at the edge of the roof.
“Wait!” Batman called.
“Hold your fire!” Gordon began.
But his words were lost under gunfire as a hail of bullets pushed Batman off the edge of the roof.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
His body armor had saved him. That, and the fact that he had only fallen a short distance, to a penthouse terrace maybe a dozen feet below.
He tried to stand, and found himself pushed back to the ground by a high-heeled boot.
Catwoman stood above him. Boot still on his chest, she smiled down at him.
“You’re catnip to a girl like me,” she purred. “Handsome, dazed, and to die for.”
She stepped back and leaned down, as if she were going to kiss him. She licked him instead, cat style, across the lips. Batman looked up above her head and realized she was holding a sprig of mistletoe.
“A kiss under the mistletoe?” he managed, still trying to regain his breath. “Mistletoe can be deadly, if you eat it—”
Catwoman smiled, her face still only a few inches away. “But a kiss can be even deadlier, if you mean it.”
She reached down to his utility belt, and unfastened it with a single flick of her claws. She pulled it from his waist and tossed it off the side of the roof.
“You’re the second man who killed me this week,” she remarked sadly. “But, hey, no prob. I’ve got seven lives left.”
Killed her? He realized she must mean her own fall from that other roof. Maybe now he could explain.
“I tried to grab you—save you—”
She looked meaningfully toward the edge of the roof. “Seems like every woman you try to save winds up dead”—she turned back to Batman—“or deeply resentful.”
She grabbed his armor with her claws and yanked him to his feet.
“Maybe,” she suggested, “it’s time to retire.” She swiped toward his mask with her claws.
It was time to get out of here. Batman jumped backward, away from her and off the roof. This time, though, he was ready for the fall.
He pressed a small button at his waist, and twin wings sprouted from either side of his armor, turning him into a glider that would gently sail down to the ground.
He swooped down, surrounded by the rising bats from the Christmas tree below. That must be another of The Penguin’s special touches. He’d have to thank the bird man personally, as soon as he’d had a chance to recover.
He banked over the crowd, heading for the alley and the Batmobile. He was coming in very fast. He’d have to skirt over the top of the crowd, then try to hit the pavement running. With luck, he could fold in the wings and somersault to a stop.
The alley wasn’t large enough for the wings. He tried to pull them close as he touched down, but the wings were too awkward to maneuver in this narrow space. He lost his footing, and went from a run to a stumble. The left wing shattered against a brick wall as he collapsed forward, skidding on the pavement.
Batman groaned. He had hit th
e ground hard. The ground spun around before him. But he had to get up. Safety was only a few feet away.
He had to get to the Batmobile.
The Catwoman and The Penguin sat on the edge of the terrace, watching the Batman’s wings collapse in the alley.
My, she thought, that did look painful. All in all, a very satisfying fall for the Batman.
And The Penguin had brought champagne.
He handed over a glass.
She looked back at The Penguin. How could he be so happy? Well, of course, they had totally framed and humiliated the Batman. But someone had gotten killed in the process.
“You said you were going to scare the Ice Princess!” she said with a frown.
“And I kept my word!” The Penguin replied with continued joviality. “The lady looked terrified.”
Catwoman frowned down at the glass of champagne. She was beginning to think The Penguin wasn’t her kind of person.
He reached within one of the many pockets of his soiled coat, and pulled forth what must once have been a box from Tiffany’s. It was now rather the worse for the wear, both worn and stained, as if it had spent a long time with The Penguin down in the sewers.
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 looked back at The Penguin. What was he trying to prove?
“So what are we waiting for?” he urged. “Let’s consummate our fiendish union!”
Union? She frowned.
“Oh, please,” she said with a shudder. “I wouldn’t touch you to scratch you!”
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