Batman 2 - Batman Returns (10 page)

His son waved in agreement and left the room as Max waited for The Penguin.

This would work out fine.

The phone rang in The Penguin’s warehouse.

Oswald Cobblepot had to admit it; Max had come through on this one. His new headquarters had two different floors. Downstairs was big and brightly lit and still under construction, as if Max was planning to give The Penguin some sort of office. No doubt it would be a good place to meet the public, if The Penguin ever wanted to do that sort of thing.

Upstairs, it was a different story: dirty, dingy, cluttered—a real working space. The Red Triangle Circus Gang hung out up here, practicing their acts and generally acting rowdy. They had opened a large ventilation duct up here that also opened up at the rear of the building, so that the gang members could come and go at will without the embarrassment of having to deal with those boringly legitimate people on the first floor.

And The Penguin had his list of names, all on that pile of yellow legal pads. Now all he had to do was cross-reference every single one of them against the white pages of Gotham phone books. It was not a simple job.

The phone kept on ringing.

The Organ Grinder shooed his monkeys away to answer it.

“Yeah?” he said. He held the phone out toward The Penguin. “For you, boss.”

Now? The Penguin grabbed the phone and almost growled into the receiver. “Yeah? What is it? I’m busy up here.”

“Good,” Max’s all-too-cheerful voice greeted him on the line. “Stay busy up there. I got plans for us below.”

What did he mean? Down at the lower level of his new headquarters? Well, The Penguin supposed since he had made the deal, he had to put up with Max. He never realized how much it would interfere with his work here.

“Plans,” he repeated halfheartedly. “Swell. Later.” He slammed down the phone. He’d deal with Max at the proper time. For now, he had to finish off the phone books and his list.

It was a lot of work, but because of this, his final revenge would be that much sweeter. He returned to matching addresses with every single name.

After all, all play and no work made a dull Penguin.

I
t was time to prowl.

She could no longer stay in her den, even after it had been transformed. Cats were meant to roam the night.

So she roamed.

What did we have here?

The dirty streets of Gotham seemed to have coughed up some more of their scum. And who is it today? Just your average, garden-variety mugger, who had grabbed a pretty young woman and dragged her back into an alley.

“Help, Batma—” the woman began.

Batman? Is that all the woman could think of?

“Now, now,” the mugger smirked, “pretty young thing, nice and easy—”

The victim cowered and held out her purse. “Please. Don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything—”

The other woman had had quite enough of this.

She leapt from the fire escape, landing squarely on the mugger’s back. He flew forward to the ground.

“I just love a big strong man who’s not afraid to show it,” she mentioned as he rolled beneath her, “with someone half her size.”

The mugger had managed to roll onto his back. He stared up at her in astonishment. “Who the—” he began.

“Be gentle,” she replied. “It’s my first time.”

Apparently he wasn’t listening, because he leapt up with a growl, intent on grabbing her.

She darted out of the way, and gave him a savage kick. All the breath left him as he staggered back.

Hey, not bad, she thought. But before he could recover, it was time for the talons.

She jumped forward and set to work scratching up his face.

The mugger screamed and fell to the asphalt.

“Tic—tac—toe,” she murmured in triumph.

The victim rushed up to her side.

“Thank you,” she gushed, “thank you. I was so scared—”

Her defender had had enough of this, too. She pushed the victim back against the wall with one of her claws.

“You make it so easy, don’t you?” she asked in disgust. “You pretty, pathetic young thing? Always waiting for some Batman to save you.”

The victim cringed again, quaking, expecting something even worse.

She leaned forward to whisper in the victim’s ear: “I am Catwoman. Hear me roar.”

And with that, Catwoman leapt away, cartwheeling out of the alley to disappear into the night.

W
ith all these interruptions, The Penguin would never finish!

He looked up to see Max Shreck stepping between the members of the Red Triangle Circus, past the Tatooed Strongman, rippling those belly dancers he had tattooed on his biceps, stopping to let one of the acrobats walk past on his hands. Max grinned at The Penguin. Somehow, he seemed much too cheerful for a businessman.

Max nodded at all the performers around them.

“Ah,” he remarked, “your—extended family.”

The Penguin sighed. Max was leading up to something. His lists would have to wait for the minute.

“Come on downstairs, Oswald,” Max urged. “I have a—surprise.”

The Penguin scowled. “I don’t like surprises.” Sometimes, The Penguin still thought it was a mistake to come out of those sewers.

But Max was insistent. He waved The Penguin away from his desk and toward a spiral stairs.

Hesitantly, The Penguin walked forward. So far, Max had more than held up his part of the bargain. And the businessman certainly knew, should anything happen to The Penguin, his circus friends were very good at revenge.

So this had to be something good.

Still, The Penguin thought of icy waters.

“Don’t want to spoil it!” Max explained as he tried to put his hands over the Penguin’s eyes.

The Penguin growled. Trusting people was one thing, but
certain
people were asking for it. Max quickly pulled his hands away.

“Then close your eyes,” Max insisted.

Oh, all right. The Penguin dutifully closed his eyes almost all the way as Max led him down the stairs. This had
better
be good, or he’d let the circus gang practice on Max even earlier than he had planned.

He opened his eyes when they went from stairs to concrete.

“Ta-da!” Max announced.

The Penguin looked around the storefront. It had been transformed from an old drugstore into something bustling and cheerful, full of brand-new desks and state-of-the-art computers and smiling college kids. The place had gotten a bright white coat of paint, too, after which the walls had been covered with red, white, and blue bunting. But the most astonishing things here were the signs and posters, the biggest of which read COBBLEPOT FOR MAYOR.

As if this wasn’t enough, there were posters taped all around, and every one had The Penguin’s picture on it, along with the words OZZIE VS. THE INSIDERS!

Everyone cheered and applauded. Max’s grin got even bigger.

The Penguin was flabbergasted.

“But—” he began. “What—” he added. “I—I mean—” he tried.

He didn’t know what he meant.

What was going on here?

“Yes,” Max said effusively, “adulation is a cross to bear. God knows I know. But someone’s got to supplant our standing-in-the-way-of-progress mayor, and don’t deny it, Mr. Cobblepot, your charisma is bigger than both of us!”

“Mayor?” The Penguin replied.

Max smiled and grinned. “Mayor.”

But this didn’t make any sense, even to somebody who had lived most of his life in the sewers.

“Max,” he pointed out, “elections happen in November. Is this not late December?”

Max waved a well-dressed pair forward; so well-dressed that they smelled of money, and success, and power. One man and one woman, both wearing appropriately dark-colored suits, both smiling perfectly gleaming white smiles.

They made The Penguin nervous.

The man stared critically at The Penguin before his smile returned.

“Keep the umbrella!” he announced. “Works for you! I’m Josh. Here!” He shoved something in The Penguin’s mouth. “Reclaim your birthright!”

The Penguin glared down at the new object between his lips. It was a jet-black cigarette holder. The woman was circling him now. The Penguin wished he were back upstairs with his yellow notepads.

“I’m Jen,” she announced as she grabbed his sleeve. “Stand still for a second while I slip on these little glove thingies—”

Glove thingies? The Penguin glanced over at her handiwork. She was rather attractive under that suit. And he would certainly like to get under that suit. Her smile turned to a grimace as she touched his flippers. It was, The Penguin guessed, just that special way he had with women.

“Our research tells us that voters like fingers,” Jen explained as she slipped on the deep black material.

The Penguin frowned at his new gloves. Still, if women liked fingers rather than flippers—

That Josh person, in the meantime, was fingering The Penguin’s coat. Now what was this guy’s problem? Sure The Penguin’s clothes were worn, certainly they were tattered, and perhaps the fabric had stood so much use that it had turned a bit shiny, but as far as The Penguin was concerned, these clothes were a part of him.

“Not a lot of reflective surfaces down in that sewer, huh?” Josh remarked.

Reflective surfaces? Oh, he meant mirrors. Jen laughed. The Penguin liked the way she laughed. He laughed, too. All the people around them started to laugh as well.

“Still,” The Penguin remarked, “it could be worse. My nose could be gushing blood.”

Josh frowned at that. “Your nose could? What do you mean?”

So The Penguin bit him, quickly, viciously, right on the nose. Make fun of him, would they? Well, the penguins who had raised him had shown him a trick or two!

“Enough!” Max called, pulling the two combatants apart. “Everyone—”

He waved them all back to work as Josh fainted to the floor. The fellow had no stamina at all. Max would have to get a better grade of consultant than that to keep up with The Penguin!

Max led the short man in black over to a quiet corner.

“You’re right,” Max admitted when they could not be overheard. “We missed the regularly scheduled election. But elected officials can be recalled, impeached, given the boot! Think of Nixon, Meachem, Barry—” He paused, and pointed to the great banner overhead. “Then think of you, Oswald Cobblepot, filling the void.”

But Oswald Cobblepot was still watching Jen. “I’d like to fill
her
void,” he murmured.

“We need signatures,” Max insisted. “To overturn the ballot. I can supply those, Oswald.”

“Teach her my ‘French flipper’ trick,” The Penguin continued. It was amazing, the wonderful things you could learn while working for the circus.

“Oswald,” Max persevered. “We need one more thing.”

The Penguin blinked. Oh, yes. The Mayor’s office; that’s what they were talking about, wasn’t it?

“A platform?” he suggested. “Let me see. ‘Stop Global Warming! Start Global Cooling!’ Make the world a giant icebox—”

“That’s fine, Oswald,” Max agreed all too readily. “But to get the mayor recalled, we still need a catalyst, a trigger, an incident.”

Yeah, The Penguin thought,
mayor.
Now that he had gotten used to the idea, he really liked it. He could hear them now.

“You’re doing great, Mayor Cobblepot,” he said aloud. Yeah. He liked the sound of that. And more than that. “Your table is ready, Mayor Cobblepot.” And how about women? Women like Jen? Hey, once he was mayor, he would have his pick of women! “I need you, Oswald. I need you now. That’s the biggest parasol I’ve ever—”

“Like the Reichstag fire,” Max continued urgently. “The Gulf of Tonkin.”

What was Max saying? Perhaps that The Penguin wasn’t mayor quite yet. Okay, he would accept that. After all, he used to do twelve shows a day; he could handle anything.

But there was work to do. Dirty work. And The Penguin knew just who could do it.

“Ah,” he suggested. “You want my old friends upstairs to drive the mayor into a foaming frenzy.”

Max grinned at that.

“Precisely,” he agreed. “But they must always come and go via the plumbing ducts that I’ve provided.”

Then Max was suggesting secret sabotage?