BATMAN RETURNS
THE BAT
THE CAT
THE PENGUIN
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. And she's got nine ways of evading death. She's Catwoman.™ This time, Batman faces the showdown of his life at high midnight . . .
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 1992 DC Comics Inc.
All rights reserved. The stories, characters, and incidents featured in this publication are entirely fictional. All characters, their distinctive likenesses, and all related indicia are trademarks of DC Comics Inc.
Cover photo courtesy of Warner Bros.
Warner Books, Inc.
1271 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
A Time Warner Company
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: July, 1992
ISBN: 0-446-36303-0
Contents
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
BATMAN RETURNS
PROLOGUE
Gotham City isn’t safe anymore. It’s crowded, noisy, dirty, filled with garbage. And I’m not just talking Styrofoam hamburger holders and discarded needles and deadly chemicals that just happen to fall into the river; I’m talking human scum, too. Grifters and drunks and addicts, hookers and dealers and petty thieves. Guys who will mug you if you step into the wrong street and shoot you if you try to call for help. And sometimes, things are so busy and crowded and noisy that you can’t tell the scum from the rest of your neighbors.
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’s go back to those days: the early fifties, a happier time. Let’s go back to the happiest time of all, Christmastime.
Our story opens a few months earlier, in a big house on a big street, owned by big people who must have big money. And they have more than that to be happy about today, for this man and woman are having a baby.
But there’s a problem.
Father paces back and forth on a landing large enough to house three whole families farther downtown. He nervously puffs on a cigarette. In the other room, we hear the mother’s labor pains. The baby’s almost here.
Then the moans stop. There is nothing but silence. A moment passes, and a new voice cries out. But there’s something about that voice, something about those goos and gahgahs that isn’t right.
The door opens. A nurse staggers out, her face blank, as if what she has just seen was so horrendous that her emotions cannot yet comprehend it. Somehow, she manages to put one foot in front of the other and wanders down the hall. Next comes the doctor, and his face is bone white, as if this man who has witnessed death a hundred times has finally seen something worse.
Father can bear it no longer. He rushes by the ashen doctor into the room that holds his wife and child.
There is another moment of silence. But after that, the house is filled with father’s screams.
But I promised you Christmas, and Christmas it will be. So we skip forward a few months. The house is all done up for the holidays, no expense spared, with lights and tinsel and a fine, big, decorated tree. The radio is on, brightly playing the music of the season, as father and mother share a little seasonal cheer.
And baby is there, too, in that playpen. Well, maybe it looks less like a playpen and more like a cage, but baby mustn’t get into mischief. Baby looks out at the bright lights as the radio plays.
“He knows when you are sleeping—”
What is that in front of the cage? That nasty family cat is slinking by, but not fast enough for baby.
“He knows when you’re awake—”
One good grab, and the cat is gone. A single feline scream, and the cat will never bother baby again.
“He knows when you’ve been bad or good—”
Baby chirps with happiness. Mother and father are careful to quickly finish their Christmas cheer, and maybe even have a little more.
But you can’t have baby cooped up forever.
So later that very same night mother and father decide to take baby for a walk. It’s a beautiful winter night, a few snowflakes, perhaps, but nothing to worry about. If you listen, you can hear Christmas carolers. Another pair of happy parents wheel a carriage filled with their tiny bundle of joy through the park, and call out to mother and father. “Merry Christmas!”
Somehow, father and mother manage to smile as they pass, but the smiles leave their faces as soon as others can no longer see them. They wheel their carriage with a grim purpose. But look at their carriage, would you? It’s a large wicker monstrosity, with leather straps to keep baby exactly in place. Most of all, it looks like something to keep prying eyes away and those weird noises muffled inside.
On go father and mother, on to that storybook bridge overlooking the babbling stream. Father and mother look to the left and look to the right, but it’s late, and they are all alone. Without another word, they pick up the carriage together and toss it from the bridge into the roaring stream.
The carriage falls through the freezing air to land in the rapidly running water, where it is carried away, through the open park and trees and hedges of the suburbs, down into the bricks and cement and walls of the city, down to where the stream meets the sewers and goes beneath the great metropolis, where the sweet water joins the murk of Gotham, and the stars no longer shine.
So the carriage travels on through darkness, surrounded by the foulest of stenches and the cries of those things that live without light. But every trip must have a destination. So it is that the carriage goes from one pipe to another to another, until at last the stream around it disgorges the great wheeled cage before a great island of ice.
The carriage washes up on that icy shore, and the baby hears a noise, and realizes he isn’t alone. For out of the darkness stride four of the most regal birds you have ever seen, four emperor penguins, to stand guard around their newfound treasure.
Gotham City isn’t safe anymore. Pain and death wait for far too many on the city streets.
Trust me. I’m the kind of bird that can make it happen.
CHAPTER ONE
Christmastime again. It happens every year.
But today things are different. Today there’s Batman. There’s a proud father now, showing a sled with that bat on it to his wife. Oops! Have to hide that present, ’cause here comes junior!
And farther out in Gotham City Plaza, there’s an adorable little girl who pulls open her precious little 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 down at the ice rink set up for the season.
And look! Right here in front of us a young man gives a young woman a poinsettia. And what a kiss she gives him back! Christmas cheer is everywhere, isn’t it? Pretty goddamned sweet.
Don’t worry. Sweetness can’t last forever. Things will get much better very soon.
Uh-oh. Here’s that snow bunny, that very well-endowed young lady dressed sort of like an elf, except she has a tiara and a banner that reads “ICE PRINCESS.” What a babe. She smiles a truly dazzling smile as she talks into her microphone.
“Could I have your attention, Gotham City?”
And of course Gotham City—all those shoppers and carolers and smilers and kissers—give her their undivided attention. She smiles again, or maybe she never ever stops smiling, and looks over to that elegant lamppost clock, a wonderful re-creation of the real thing, and sees the big hand reach a quarter to seven.
Once again, her excited voice chirps over the microphone: “It’s time for tonight’s lighting of the tree! How about that?”
She presses a big, multicolored button before her. And what happens next? Why, the whole big Gotham Plaza Christmas tree lights up, of course! No surprises.
At least not yet.
“Aah!” the crowd proclaims as they watch the tree. “Oooh!”
But a surprise is coming soon.
Wait a moment, you ask. Who’s telling us all this? Who is this in the dark? When he looks through 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 surrounded him?
But baby is baby no more. He’s grown bigger now, much bigger, and he’s learned a thing or two. For one thing, he’s learned a jaunty little tune. If you’ll permit me, I’ll sing:
“I know when you’ve been sleeping, I know when you’re awake—”
Soon.
CHAPTER TWO
A butler’s work was never done.
Alfred dodged and wove his way through the Christmas shoppers with the ease of a seasoned veteran. He had performed these sorts of errands for more than forty years, first for Thomas Wayne and his wife, and then, after that couple’s tragic death, for their growing son Bruce. On these last days before the holiday he would fetch the Christmas goose, a few new ornaments for the tree, and perhaps some small presents for friends and acquaintances of his employer.
At least, he thought, in doing this he could make life a little easier for Master Bruce. In these last few months, Bruce Wayne had had certain other things on his mind.
“Paper!” the newsboy shouted as Alfred approached. “Read about the latest sighting of the Penguin creature! Read all about it! Missing link between man and bird? Get your paper!”
Alfred studied the lurid headline on the Gotham Herald with a single practiced glance:
PENGUIN:
MAN OR MYTH
OR SOMETHING WORSE?
The newsboy held a paper out in front of the butler. “Paper, mister?”
“Dear boy,” Alfred replied. “Sometimes it is a diversion to read such piffle.” He frowned down at the headline. “Most times it is a waste of time.”
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.
It was almost as if he expected something to be lurking in the shadows. Alfred chuckled. If he didn’t watch himself, he’d get as bad as Master Bruce.
Who did the Mayor think Max was, some kind of ordinary citizen?
Max Shreck told himself to calm down. The Mayor had arrived here in the Shreck corporate offices, after all, even if it had been hours after he had been summoned. And, Max reminded himself, he had to be pleasant to this windbag politician, at least until the Mayor gave him what he wanted.
The Mayor nodded out at the view of the Christmas tree, all lit up down in Gotham Plaza. “Well, here’s hoping”—he beat his fist upon the desk—“knock wood—Gotham might just have its first merry Christmas in a good long while.”
So His Honor was growing sentimental? Max figured it was time to turn on the charm. “I feel almost vulgar,” he said with a nod and a smile, “in this Yuletide context, about mentioning the new power plant.” He paused to pound his own fist into his open palm. “But if we’re going to break ground when we’ve got to break ground, I need permits, variances, tax incentives”—he paused again to shrug apologetically—“that kind of pesky nonsense.”
The Mayor looked at Max as if he had never heard of this power plant. Which, of course, he hadn’t. But Max Shreck never let a detail like that get in his way.
“Power plant?” the Mayor objected. “Max, our studies show that Gotham has enough energy to sustain growth into the next centu—”
Shreck cut him off with a hearty laugh. “Your analysts are talking growth at one percent per annum. That’s not growth, that’s a mild swelling. I’m planning ahead for a revitalized Gotham City!” He waved 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 sound of brownouts? Do you?”
He glanced away from the politician for the merest of instants as the door to his office opened, admitting his son Chip and his secretary, Selina Kyle. It must be almost time. He would have to wrap this up.
He opened all ten of his fingers before the Mayor’s face. “Imagine a Gotham City of the future lit up like a blanket of stars.” He closed his fists, then opened and closed them again. “But blinking, on and off?” He shook his head. “Embarrassingly low on juice? Frankly, I cringe, Mr. Mayor.”
Chip moved quickly but quietly across the room toward his father. With the respect he showed for his old man, you’d hardly suspect that this boy was a star college quarterback. But Max liked it that way, both the college star and the respect. In fact, he demanded it be that way.
“Dad,” Chip interrupted as he glanced at the large digital clock on the wall. “Mr. Mayor. It’s time to go downstairs and bring joy to the masses.”
Uh-oh, Shreck thought. His pitch to the Mayor was really running a little bit behind schedule. But Max wouldn’t let His Honor off that easily. He fixed the Mayor with his best Shreck smile.
“Sorry,” the Mayor replied dismissively before Max could add another word. “You’ll have to submit reports, blueprints, and plans through the usual committees, through the usual channels.”
Max almost lost his smile. Who did this two-bit politician think he was talking to? But he couldn’t let the Mayor go now, not when he was so close. There had to be some way to make Jenkins see the error of his ways.
Selina put down a tray bearing a silver coffeepot and a couple of fine china cups. “Um,” she mentioned somewhat hesitantly, “I had a suggestion. Well, actually, more of just a question—”
Max’s gaze locked upon her, silencing her instantly. He had to be nice to the Mayor; being nice to Selina was something else altogether. What did she think she was doing, butting in? D
idn’t she know a secretary’s place?
“I’m afraid we haven’t properly housebroken Ms. Kyle,” he apologized to the Mayor. He smiled as he waved at the tray. “In the plus column, though, she brews one hell of a cup of coffee!”
But he had to get away from these sorts of interruptions if he was going to get Jenkins in his corner. Max pushed the Mayor from the office without touching the pot or the cups.
Selina looked after her disappearing boss. What had she done?
Corn dog!
Chip smiled at her, the kind of smile that probably melted college coeds at his feet. It was too bad the smile was as phony as Chip’s part-time job for his father.
“Thanks,” he said, waving gallantly at the coffee tray. “Anyway, it’s not the caffeine that gets us buzzed around here. It’s the obedience.”
He favored her with one more of his winning smiles before he turned and strode out after his father.
She waited until he was out of the room before she replied.
“Shut up, Chip.”
Selina stared at the tray before her for a second, then slapped her forehead with her palm. “ ‘Actually more of a question.’ You stupid corn dog!”
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 seen the look her boss had given her. After an outburst like hers, she was lucky to still have a job.
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