“Corn dog.” She slapped herself again for good measure. “Corn dog!”
Couldn’t she ever do anything right?
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 figured it wouldn’t hurt to remind him. They just happened to go out of the main door, too, right by the large SHRECK’S sign, featuring that happy Shreck cat that all of Gotham loved. All of Gotham! But the Mayor should know that, too. It was a symbol of everything Max stood for, and, maybe, a sign of even greater things to come.
The minute they stepped from the store, the news media gathered around. Flashbulbs popped in their 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! It was time for some positive image making. Max paused and reached for his wallet. He passed two bills to Santa, and the one on top was a fifty. The flashbulbs popped merrily.
The Salvation Army guy frowned as he saw that the second bill was a single. Pretty smart Santa. It didn’t matter, though, because the cameras had moved on to follow Max, Chip, and the Mayor. The Salvation Army Santa was already old news.
His son tugged at his sleeve. “Watch your step, Dad. It’s pretty grotesque.”
Max looked ahead to the river of melting sludge that his son pointed to. Chip was right. There was some incredible filth in this town. Max redirected his steps to the dry patch on the far side of the sewer grate.
Max frowned. When his eyes had followed the path of the sludge into the sewer, he almost thought he saw something down below. Not a rat, that’s the sort of thing he’d expect. It was much bigger than a rat. No, it looked more like somebody holding an umbrella.
An umbrella?
Max shrugged off the thought. He was on top of the world. What did it matter to him what—or who—lived in the sewer these days?
CHAPTER THREE
Corn dog.
Selina looked at the Post-It notes tacked onto her computer, reminders that would help her fit in, help her to get ahead in the competitive world of Shreck Industries.
“Don’t ‘get’ jokes,” said one. Max didn’t like it when she got too clever.
“Save it for your diary,” read another. The upper echelon here at Shreck didn’t want to hear about her problems. In fact, they didn’t want to hear about anything except making money.
But none of the half-dozen notes in front of her got down to the basics of why she kept screwing up around here. If she could just get a grip on where she was falling short, if she could simply come up with that one golden rule she should remember so that Max and all his cronies would smile on her next time promotions came around.
But what did Max really want?
As soon as she asked herself the question, Selina knew the answer. It was so simple, a single word.
“Obey.”
Selina wrote it on a Post-It note and stuck it on top of the others.
Beyond her window, she could hear the cheering crowd, waiting for Max to give his speech. The phone rang. She let it. It was such a bad day she didn’t want to talk to anybody else.
She shouldn’t be here, anyway, she should be down below, shouldn’t she? But doing what? She frowned, sure she was forgetting something. Her eyes wandered over to the legal pad by the still-ringing phone.
There, on the bright yellow pad, in big block letters, was the word “SPEECH.” Max’s speech. The speech she had written, and then neglected to give to Max.
Oh, no. She was in for it this time.
“Darn.” She hit herself on the forehead all over again.
Who was the biggest corn dog of all?
Max couldn’t let it go. He was not the sort of man to wait. He had to have the Mayor’s okay, and he wanted it now. If the Mayor wouldn’t give it to him the easy way, he’d just have to take it any way he could.
“I have enough signatures,” he said, still smiling, “from Shreck employees alone, to warrant a recall of a Mayor who isn’t doing his job.” He graciously motioned for the Mayor to precede him onto the dais. “That’s not a threat,” he added. “Just simple math.”
But the Mayor smiled back at him as he walked ahead. “Maybe,” he replied. “But you don’t have an issue, Max. Nor do you have a candidate.”
Max followed His Honor up onto the platform. Both received an obligatory peck upon the cheek from the Ice Princess before they took their places. The clock behind the podium read five minutes to seven. It was time to get this show moving.
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, Max Shreck!”
Max thought the Mayor was pushing it a little bit. Gotham’s own Santa Claus? There was such a thing as being too sincere. Still, there wasn’t a crowd in all of Gotham that the head of Shreck Industries couldn’t win over.
He opened his executive portfolio. There was nothing inside.
Chip frowned over his shoulder, that “Is there something wrong, Dad?” look on his face.
“Forgot,” he said to Chip between extremely clenched teeth.
“My,” he added.
“Speech,” he concluded.
“Remind me to take it out on Selina,” he amended as an afterthought.
Well, he’d been in worse fixes than this, and he’d get through this one, too. He’d just have to wing it.
His clenched teeth turned into a magnanimous smile as he faced the crowd. “Santa Claus? ’Fraid not. I’m just a poor little schmo who got a little lucky, and sue me if I want to give a little back.”
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, except that it came from whatever items his store had overstocked.
“I only wish I could hand out more than just expensive baubles,” he continued effusively. “In this season of our Savior’s birth, I wish I could hand out World Peace, and Unconditional Love, wrapped in a big bow.”
Max wanted to give everyone a present, wrapped in a big bow?
“Oh, but you can,” murmured the squat man beneath the umbrella. “Oh, but you will.” He opened the ornate pocket watch that he held; a little rusted perhaps, but still elegant. And it kept perfect time.
Time? It was one minute till.
Time to close the umbrella.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alfred managed to skirt the last few happy shoppers as Max Shreck launched into his speech. The man was speaking absolute drivel, and the crowd was actually cheering him on. Oh, well, the butler thought, it probably had something to do with the spirit of Christmas. He supposed he could be a little more charitable as well. Still, he was happy to be leaving this madhouse before it became any worse.
He stopped to put the packages down so that he might unlock the door of the Rolls. It was at that moment that he realized there was a parking ticket on his windshield. A parking ticket? What did that 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 rampant in this town rather than indulging in parking tickets?
The crowd’s roar grew twice as loud as before. Despite his better judgment, Alfred took one final look back at the throng. There, above their heads, he could see some sort of gigantic box, wrapped up in bright paper and colorful ribbons, like some monstrous Christmas present. And the cheers at this monstrosity’s arrival were deafening.
The bi
g clock in the middle of the mall struck seven. In fact, all the clocks in every store up and down the street struck seven, increasing the din even more.
Alfred plucked the ticket from the windshield and walked over to the driver’s side of the car. He wouldn’t be getting out of here a moment too soon.
Max’s mind went blank when he saw the box. It looked like a present the size of a house. And not a small house, either.
“Great idea,” the mayor remarked. For the first time tonight, Max could hear genuine admiration in the politician’s voice.
“But not mine,” Max had to admit. He had to get on with his speech. Or did he? The way the crowd was cheering now, he doubted if they could hear anything else he would say. He looked forward to the edge of the stage, where his son had moved to hand out the presents to the crowd, but the first of the gifts had fallen from Chip’s hands to land on top of the sewer grate before the podium. Chip stood, frozen, watching the giant present make its way through the square toward them.
What was this? A small, wrapped gift had fallen upon the grating, right up above his vantage point?
The squat man chuckled. “Deck the halls,” he whispered.
How generous of them. And how appropriate, for he was about to give all of Gotham City a present of his very own.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was all part of the job, Commissioner Gordon thought, I but he didn’t have to be happy with it. Especially when the crowd grew as large as it did for the Shreck’s annual Christmas giveaway.
There was always the potential for disaster when there were this many people in this confined a space. And then Shreck insisted on letting his son toss out freebies to the crowd! But was even that bad enough? No, now that publicity-mad store owner had to come up with this giant gift gimmick, without even informing the police about it beforehand!
There must, Gordon thought, be some statute they could haul Shreck in on, if only to make him see reason next time. But the mayor would never allow it. Shreck was a big campaign contributor, after all. Not to mention a great source of photo opportunities.
Oh, well, Gordon had to look on the bright side. This would all be over in the next few minutes. No one had been killed yet. And at least he got to sit in his police cruiser, outside of the crush of the crowd, and away from the long-winded speechmaking of Max Shreck.
Gordon turned his attention back to this huge box that was rolling into the square. It was designed like one of those floats in the Christmas parade. Looking at the bottom of the box, he could make out wheels at each of the corners propelling the float along; not truck wheels, though, they were too thin and closely spaced for that. Gordon would guess that the float was being moved by four motorcycles. And in between the cycles, the commissioner could see walking feet. He wondered if there was going to be a second part to this presentation.
Gordon shook his head. This seemed like an awful lot of trouble, even for a media shark like Shreck. He decided he’d better call the other units stationed around the plaza. Who knew what problems they’d have with crowd control if this gift opened up?
Corn dog!
She would never get anywhere if she just sat around and moped! If Max hadn’t taken his speech, it was her job to bring it down to him! Selina grabbed the envelope that contained her carefully worded season’s greetings, and headed for the elevator.
She just hoped she wasn’t too late.
Gordon stopped talking into the police radio.
Gotham Plaza had gone crazy.
The giant package burst open. Three men on motorcycles roared out, right into the crowd. People tried to run, screaming, frantic to get away from the growling engines.
A fourth cycle ripped out of the side of the box, jumped the railing above the plaza and landed in the middle of the crowd gathered for the tree lighting.
Some of the people didn’t make it, and were flattened or tossed aside by the marauding cycles. A fifth cyclist emerged from hiding to follow the first three. The crowd was too tightly packed. They had nowhere to escape.
And the box still had more surprises.
The top opened. Five acrobats sprang out, cartwheeling into the panicked crowd to knock down anyone still left standing. One of them kayoed a mounted patrolman. Another flipped beyond the nearby onlookers, straight toward a mobile soup-kitchen Shreck had set up for the homeless. The kitchen volunteers barely escaped as the acrobats’ fists and feet smashed everything in sight.
The other acrobats had another goal. They were headed straight for the platform with the Christmas tree!
Confusion was everywhere. Calls came in to Gordon from the other cars, asking for directions. The panicked crowd surged away from the plaza to surround the commisoner’s car. People were climbing over each other in their rush to escape. Someone was going to get crushed out there. A sled crashed into the windshield of Gordon’s cruiser.
Something had to be done now. And there was only one person who could do it.
The police commissioner found his voice again. “What are you waiting for?” he barked into his radio. “The signal!”
CHAPTER SIX
Bruce Wayne sat in the darkness. Alfred hadn’t returned home from his Christmas errands yet, and Bruce was all alone in Wayne Manor. Alone in the dark and quiet; alone with his thoughts.
Bruce didn’t like going out in crowds much at night. It reminded him too much of another winter night, when he was only a boy. His parents had taken him into downtown Gotham City earlier on that day, and they had all stayed until long after dark. They had had a wonderful time that day, going shopping, having dinner, going to a show. Bruce could never remember having such a good time with his parents. It was a day filled with nothing but laughter.
And then—
Bruce closed his eyes, but he could still see the gunman who stepped out of the shadows to rob his parents. He could still see his father put up a fight, see his mother’s mouth open as she cried for help. And he saw the double flash of the gun as two bullets killed both father and mother.
They had taken his parents away from him.
Now he would make them pay.
He opened his eyes and saw the light shining in the window; the symbol, a silhouette of a bat in a pool of yellow light.
Bruce smiled.
He was needed.
This was going so well. First the cyclists, then the acrobats, and now the rest of his merry band. It was getting to be a real circus.
The Fire Breather smashed the window of the toy store. He stuck that rod of his in his mouth, and breathed fire over the whole display window. The entire place went up in flames. That precious Ice Princess ran away, pushing an elderly woman to the ground. Oh, dear, look at the old bag. She’d fallen and she couldn’t get up. In a minute or two, she was sure to be trampled.
The squat creature laughed from his vantage point beneath the sewer grate. If all went according to plan, this was the last night he would ever have to watch the world from down here. Soon, he would be up there again with all the fat cats, and all those “haves” would look up to him, because he’d have more than all of them combined.
He saw a beacon split the sky. He’d know that black and yellow signal anywhere, and it only made him laugh that much harder.
“Ooh, Batman,” he said in his odd, raspy voice. “I’m tremblin’.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The elevator had taken forever to get to the top floor. Selina had jumped in it as soon as it had opened, pounding the down button and hoping that she was still in time to salvage some portion of her boss’s speech. Thankfully, nobody else was going down just then, and she made the descent in under a minute. She ran through the lobby and out the main door of the department store.
Boy, it sure was noisy out here. For a second, she was almost happy her boss never let her attend these things. Now where was he in all these people?
Three motorcycles burst out of the crowd, headed straight for her. She jumped back out of the way as the cycles roared on by, still almost
brushing her clothes.
If she hadn’t jumped she would have been crushed. Boy, she thought, all those workouts at the gym had actually done her some good.
But why weren’t those cyclists looking where they were going? They could really hurt somebody! And the way everybody was screaming; was something wrong down here?
This was crazy.
An organ grinder, with a big red organ box and handlebar mustaches, was the first one on the stage. And he had the usual monkey—except that this monkey had a gun.
Max hoped it was a cap gun.
The Organ Grinder grinned and turned his box toward the Christmas tree. He twisted the handle. Bullets spewed out of the box. It was a Gatling gun! Ornaments and lights exploded under the hail of bullets.
“Take, that, tannenbaum!” the grinder yelled.
But there were other newcomers on the stage now—a grossly fat clown, another guy, dressed in rags, who kept sticking a sword down his throat, and this very colorfully dressed woman. For once in Max’s life, he wasn’t all that interested in the curves beneath that woman’s costume, probably because a large portion of her costume consisted of rows and rows of knives.
Both the Mayor and Chip moved toward the back of the platform. Max wanted to join them. But where could they run?
“Relax,” the lady with the knives remarked. “We just came for the guy who runs the show.”
The Mayor stepped forward. Max was impressed. He never thought the weasel had that kind of guts.
“What do you want from me?” the mayor asked.
The Sword Swallower laughed and pushed His Honor off the stage.
“Not you,” the fellow somehow said around his sword. “Shreck.”
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