But The Penguin had to complete his stirring address. “Thanks to Batman,” he continued, “the time has come to punish all God’s chillun—first, second, third and fourth-born!” He laughed grandly. “Why be biased? Male and female, hell—the sexes are equal with their erogenous zones blown sky high!”
He looked over to the control center. There was the Poodle Lady, at the controls, beneath the banks of monitors scavenged from both the old Arctic World pavilions and numerous diverse sources, relaying those fine video signals, from cameras liberated from some of the finer automatic tellers and convenience stores in all of Gotham. And those monitors showed every corner of the sleeping city.
But if the city was sleeping now, soon it would be dead.
“Forward, march!” The Penguin declared. “The liberation of Gotham has begun!”
The whole penguin army swiveled in unison as the Poodle Lady twisted the appropriate knob at the controls. She flipped a switch, and the penguins started to march in step toward the large sewer pipe, and the city beyond.
Penguin had to wipe away another tear.
“The Grinch just stole Christmas,” he announced to those few, pitiful humans who remained. “I’m gonna kill it, barbecue it, chop it up, and chew its bones!”
Yes, The Penguin thought, smacking his lips.
Pure chewing satisfaction.
The Batmobile might be down, but there was more than one way to patrol Gotham City. Especially when your prey was a creature like The Penguin.
Batman drove the Batskiboat down Gotham River and into the main conduit of the sewers. This would be the first real test of his new vehicle, a sleek, compact black craft designed along the same lines as the Batmobile, a combination of speedboat and jet-ski.
The sewers were dark and vast, and changes over the years had made it virtually impossible to map them from city records. The Penguin might have been able to hide down here for years. But now Batman knew where to look.
Alfred had picked up a signal, similar to the one The Penguin had used on the Batmobile. It seemed that the birdman was again trying his tricks with remote control. But Batman would turn those tricks around, and The Penguin’s final fate would be anything but remote.
Batman looked down at a small screen before him. The glowing dot was getting closer. He picked up the phone that connected him with the Batcave.
“I’m homing in on the signal’s origin,” he announced.
“Ready when you are,” Alfred replied. The butler was once again in charge of the computers.
The glowing dot reached the center of the screen and began to flash with twice the intensity. The Penguin’s control center was just ahead.
“Got the coordinates,” Batman added. “They’re—”
He turned his boat around a corner in the sewer pipe. There, in the glow of his headlight, were half a dozen penguins.
Penguins? As Batman scanned the group, he noticed that all the birds were strangely outfitted as well, all wearing odd helmets and carrying what looked like miniature bazookas.
This was what The Penguin controlled. The birds raised their weapons at the approaching boat. It was time for some evasive action.
He gunned the jet motor as he turned the boat to follow the curve of the sewer pipe. The boat rocketed forward, rising from the water and climbing the curve until Batman hung upside down for an instant from the top of the pipe.
The penguins’ missiles exploded harmlessly below.
Batman continued his circumnavigation of the sewer pipe, bringing the craft back into the water on the far side of his adversaries. In an instant, the penguins were out of firing range; in another instant, they were out of sight.
“As I was saying—” Batman continued.
He quickly gave the butler the proper coordinates, along with a few final instructions.
Now they could put The Penguin away for good.
All my children, The Penguin thought, marching bravely down the streets of Gotham City, about to blow the city to holy hell. They’d teach the sanctimonious citizens a thing or two—or at least those who were left alive.
He stared up at the monitors, and saw all but one of his units already in place. The last group had delayed by some small disturbance in the sewer tunnels, but even they were climbing from their designated manhole to take up their position outside Gotham Plaza.
The Poodle Lady looked up at the big clock. Everything was right on schedule!
“Ten,” the Poodle Lady began her countdown, “nine—”
Penguin could barely contain his enthusiasm. “The Christmas Eve of Destruction!” he chortled. This would let Gotham know how he really felt about the holidays!
“Eight,” his assistant continued. “Seven.”
The Penguin couldn’t help it! He felt like singing!
“Silent night, violent night,” he began.
“All is shrill,” the Poodle Lady chimed in, “all is blight!”
The Penguins were in position. Larry instructed them to angle their bazookas for maximum destruction of the stores and the last-minute shoppers.
This time, The Penguin was going to give Gotham the biggest Christmas light of all!
CHAPTER FORTY
Alfred sat at the console, ready for his employer’s instructions.
“Twenty-eight degrees west,” Batman repeated, double-checking the coordinates. “Shall we?”
Alfred typed the appropriate command into the console before him.
FREQUENCY JAMMED, the monitor replied.
The Penguin couldn’t take his eyes off the video screens. This was the kind of program that really sucked you in. One final command, and Gotham City would become Götterdämmerung!
“Ah, Gotham,” he mused gleefully. “You wouldn’t put me on a pedestal, so I’m laying you on a slab!”
The Poodle Lady coughed. She threw a switch, then a second and a third. She seemed to be having a little trouble.
“Well, um, funny thing” she remarked in a very tentative tone, “your penguins—they’re not responding to your launch command. In fact”—she flinched before she continued—“they’re kind of turned around now—like someone jammed our signal—”
The Penguin stared at her. Jammed? “But who could have—” He paused as he thought of the obvious answer. “No, don’t say it.”
The Poodle Lady nodded rapidly, her eyes on The Penguin’s deadly umbrella.
“My lips are sealed,” she agreed.
Wait a moment. That momentary distraction, down in the sewers. Could it be? The Penguin moved forward to the consoles, punching buttons. Not in that pipe, no.
There!
He punched another quick succession of controls, and every screen in front of him showed it. Some kind of boat!
“I’m starting,” The Penguin remarked very softly, “just starting, to lose my temper, now.”
He grabbed a fresh umbrella and ran for the Duck vehicle.
Max couldn’t believe it.
He had spent hours down here, maybe even days, hanging in the cage, dozing from time to time with his arms around the bars. He had thought it was hopeless, only a matter of time before he was killed along with any number of others.
But instead, he had seen not one but two of The Penguin’s master plans brilliantly foiled. And The Penguin, so sure of himself before, seemed to have forgotten everything, except revenge. And that everything included Max.
Max had to rouse himself from his stupor. Maybe, with The Penguin gone, there was some way Max could get out of here as well.
The Penguin jumped into his strange Duck vehicle, only a few feet away from Max’s cage.
The Penguin steered his contraption out of the sewer and up the stairs!
But Max didn’t have any time to worry about what made that duck move. The Penguin was gone, and the key—and freedom—were within easy reach.
Max bent down and grabbed the key from the Organ Grinder’s monkey and quickly unlocked himself.
He had to get out of here, ba
ck to the surface, before The Penguin had any thoughts about returning. He took a step toward the stairs, and felt something wrap around his other leg.
He looked down.
It was a very fancy whip—a cat-o’-nine-tails.
He grabbed the fallen Fat Clown’s gun as he fell into the water.
Batman had almost reached The Penguin’s lair.
But something was moving up ahead. He could see a new blip on his screen, a thermal image of what lay ahead. It wasn’t a boat exactly. The vehicle ahead appeared to be shaped like a large rubber duck, and it was headed for the surface.
His boat reached a fork in the pipes. Batman turned sharply, entering the sewer main that angled up toward the surface.
Where Penguins go, Bats can follow.
He had reached the top of Arctic World, the grand and glorious exhibition site of yesteryear, which, more important to The Penguin, held a door that led outside, beyond the sewers, where he might get lost in the great mass of Gotham City. The Penguin laughed as he steered the Duck into the lake beyond the exhibit. He’d steal away to plan another day—
He stopped laughing at the sound of breaking glass. Something was plowing through the top of the old Arctic World.
Something like that damned Batskiboat!
It flew through the air, straight for him. It was going to land on top of him.
The Penguin had to get out of here.
If there was any time.
His craft had stopped. His aim had been perfect, crashing into The Penguin’s escape vehicle. But what had happened to The Penguin?
Batman popped open the cockpit and climbed out. He looked beneath his craft for some sign of the bird-man, a bit of soiled coat, perhaps, or a piece of an umbrella.
He saw movement from the corner of his eye.
The Penguin was on top of him!
The bird-man wrapped his legs around Batman’s neck, pecking at his cowl, stabbing with the tip of his umbrella. Batman staggered under the weight.
“I think you’re jealous—” Penguin declared between pecks, “that I’m a genuine freak—and you have to wear a mask!”
Batman shifted his weight, trying to throw off his assailant. “Maybe you’re right,” he replied.
The Penguin obligingly jumped away.
“But in the end,” the bird-man remarked as he lifted his sleek, black weapon, “all that counts is, ‘Who’s holding the umbrella?’ ”
The Penguin pressed the umbrella handle, and a long blade sprang out from the other end, transforming it into a sword.
It was time for Batman to pull out his own weapon. A small, black, palm-sized electronic device featuring a button.
The Penguin’s already small eyes narrowed. What was Batman up to? The bird-man circled the Batman warily, keeping his distance.
The Penguin paused abruptly, looking beyond his foe.
“My babies—” he whispered.
Batman risked a look, and saw a whole army of penguins waddling toward the Arctic World. Out of The Penguin’s control, they had returned to the place they knew.
The Penguin yelled and lunged forward with his sword. Batman easily avoided the stab, but in his surprise let go of his own weapon.
The Penguin cackled, snatching the weapon from the ground. He grinned at Batman as he held the button out in his foe’s direction, and pressed down hard.
Two panels in the Batman’s boat fell away, releasing a crowd of bats. Confused bats, agitated bats, locked in an enclosed space for far too long. They flew right for The Penguin and the high-pitched signal button he still held in his hand.
“Ah, you brought your in-laws!” The Penguin remarked as he swatted at them with his umbrella. “I’m sure, once you get to know them—”
But the bats were clustering around him now and the signal that called to them. There were too many of them. He staggered backward, onto the pathway that led to the Arctic World exhibit, running now, trying to escape the circling mammals.
He screamed as he crashed through the glass and fell, back into his lair.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The bats wouldn’t leave him alone!
He had smashed through the old observation window. The glass had cut him in a dozen places, adding to his exhaustion. And the bats were everywhere, swooping, chattering. They were even worse than monkeys!
He looked below, and saw the moat around the old Penguin island coming up fast. He was going to hit hard. Well, the bats couldn’t follow him there!
He splashed into the moat, letting himself sink all the way to the bottom.
Batman looked down at the Arctic World exhibit below. The Penguin was nowhere to be seen. But there were two others down there, straggling; Max Shreck and—Catwoman. He’d have to take care of that in a moment. But first, he had to deal with an army of heavily armed penguins.
He moved quickly back to his boat, and used his phone to tell Alfred to stop jamming the signals.
Alfred complied.
The penguins’ helmets clicked and hummed. They turned, lifting their bazookas aloft, aimed now for the rotting remains of the rest of the old exhibition—crumbling cages from an old zoo, weathered concession stands with a bit of bright paint remaining here and there, benches and fences that had collapsed long ago.
Another command came through, and the penguins fired together, a grand trajectory of missiles arcing high overhead to fall into the exhibits beyond.
The exposition exploded, full of sound and light for one final time.
She finally had Max Shreck where she wanted him. Alone, in this crumbling exhibit. The world was exploding outside, and the heat seemed to be melting the ice around them. The water level was rising, making the island that she and Max shared smaller by the minute. There was no way for him to escape.
“I don’t know what you want,” he pleaded, doing his best to smile, “but I know I can get it for you with a minimum of fuss.”
He waited for her to suggest something. She didn’t.
“Money?” he suggested for her. She didn’t react.
“Jewels?” was his next suggestion. But she didn’t want that either.
“A very big ball of string?” he asked in desperation.
Well, she supposed she might as well tell him.
“Your blood, Max.”
He grew even paler than he had been before.
“M-my blood?” he sputtered. “I—I gave at the office.”
“A half pint,” Catwoman purred. “I want gallons.” She curled her whip around his neck with a flick of her wrist. It was time for Max Shreck to have a little date with that big humming generator.
But Max didn’t want to go. “Let’s make a deal,” he continued feverishly as she literally dragged him along. “Other than my blood, what can I offer—”
“Sorry, Max.” She thought of that trip out the window during the snowstorm. She certainly hoped he pictured it as well.
“A die for a die,” she added, dragging him so that he might have reached out and touched the wheezing generator. The melting ice seemed to have affected it as well. It was definitely laboring now, shooting out a whole, steady stream of sparks.
“Either you’ve caught a cold,” Max replied, “or you’re planning to kill me.”
Smart boy. All she needed to do was ground dear Max properly, and he should go up in sparks as well.
A rope appeared nearby, dropping down from the dome above. A moment later Batman dropped in as well.
Max whimpered and crawled toward him.
“You’re not saving one life,” Max called out, “you’re saving a city and its way of life!”
Batman drop-kicked him into the generator.
Max yelped as he bounced off. Just a small shock this time. A taste, Catwoman hoped, of things to come.
Batman turned to Max. Sometimes, she had to admit, she liked his style.
“First,” he said to the businessman, “you’re going to shut up. Then you’re going to turn yourself in.”
What
? This was what she got for getting involved with this sort of goody-goody!
“Don’t be naïve!” she demanded. “The law doesn’t apply to people like him.” She paused and looked Batman in the eyes. “Or us.”
But Batman shook his head. “Wrong on both counts.”
He reached out to take Max.
No. Catwoman wouldn’t let that creep get away. She cartwheeled straight at Batman, delivering a swift kick to his abdomen. He flew backwards, falling.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked as he picked himself up. “We could drop him off at the city jail, then go home together—”
As if it could be as simple as that! Couldn’t he understand?
“I’m not a house cat,” she began pleadingly.
Batman started to smile. She couldn’t stand that.
She lashed out with her claws, scratching Batman’s face. He pivoted away from her talons, punching out with his fist to push her beyond arm’s reach.
“I won’t declaw you,” Batman explained. “Just watch where you sharpen those things.”
Catwoman stared at him. If only she didn’t have to deal with Max. But she did, and Batman stood in the way.
“Don’t you see,” Batman pleaded. “We’re the same. Split down the middle.” He reached out a gloved hand toward her.
“Just like in a fairy tale,” she agreed. “I could live with you in your castle forever after.”
If only, she thought, there wasn’t this other thing I have to do first.
She leaned forward. She longed for the sweetness of his kiss.
She gave him a head-butt instead.
He reeled backward.
“I just couldn’t live with myself,” she admitted.
“Selina?” Max remarked as the light suddenly dawned upon him. “Selina Kyle? You’re fired!” He looked over at the recovering Batman. “And Bruce—Bruce Wayne? Why are you dressed up as Batman?”
Catwoman replied. “He is Batman, you moron.”
But Max had a gun in his hand.
“Was,” he corrected.
He shot at the rising Batman, catching him in the side of the neck. Batman fell to his knees as Max turned the gun on Catwoman.
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